


A Spanish Night's Dream

by Agasthiya



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Cultural Differences, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, L'Auberge espagnole/The Spanish Apartment AU, Language Barrier, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Viktor is retired, Yuuri is on a break, barcelona, they all live together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agasthiya/pseuds/Agasthiya
Summary: After taking a break in his skating career, Yuuri goes to Barcelona for a year to study and think about his future. One thing leading to another, he ends up sharing an apartment with six other people, all coming from different countries.His recently retired idol Viktor Nikiforov is one of them.***Freely based on the movie L'Auberge espagnole/The Spanish Apartment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Several months ago, I was watching this movie I love. Then I thought "this but with YOI characters", and the idea couldn't leave me.
> 
> It's not necessary to have seen the movie to understand this fic, I only borrowed the main idea, aka a group of exchange students living together in Barcelona. Hope you will enjoy it!
> 
> Many thanks to [Hevheia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hevheia) for her encouragements and enthusiasm ❤❤
> 
> Come and say hi on [Tumblr](http://piecesofbrokenrecollections.tumblr.com/)!

When the pilot’s voice announcing their imminent landing resonates in the cabin, Yuuri sighs with relief.

This flight has drained him to the bone. His legs are tingling from staying seated for so long, he hasn’t showered or changed clothes in almost twenty-four hours and, of course, he’s been unlucky enough to get the seat next to the most annoying passenger on the plane.

For some reason, this passenger hasn’t left him alone since the layover in Helsinki. They buttonholed him for hours about their “fantastic” job and Yuuri feigned interest by hmm’ing and nodding when appropriate, even though everything beyond “IT system” and “trading startup” flew over his head. At the end of their self-congratulatory monologue, the passenger flashed a grin worthy of a teeth-whitening commercial and asked him, “And what brings you to Barcelona?”.

At least they had the courtesy to ask, but Yuuri had no desire to talk about it. Especially not with a stranger. Far too complicated. Too bad for him, it was too late to pretend he didn’t speak English.

“I’m on a break.” Not a lie, more a simplification of reality.

“Haha, lucky you! You’re gonna have a blast. Barcelonians really know how to party. The nightlife is wild, you won’t get a lot of sleep, believe me! I studied here for a year, I swear it’s a life-changing experience.”

“You did?” And for a second, Yuuri thought the conversation would take an interesting turn.

The passenger didn't hear him. “I’d give so much for some real holidays. I’m telling you, once you get a job like mine you only ever travel for business. Just last month I was in Naples, and three months ago Geneva, and…”

Knowing it was hopeless, Yuuri eventually decided to ignore them and count the minutes separating him from freedom.

And the moment has come. His bad mood vanishes as the plane’s wheels touch the tarmac, a tangible reminder of what is waiting for him out there. Excitement slowly bubbles up in his chest, and he taps his fingers against his legs impatiently.

It was all worth it. The months of doubts, of administrative mess and insistent emails regarding his scholarship and credentials. The seventeen-hour flight, the three-hour layover and the tedious, self-indulgent conversation. All the trouble was worth it because now, here he finally is.

Barcelona.

It’s Yuuri’s first time in Europe, but not his first time studying abroad. When he landed in Detroit at eighteen, five years ago, lost in a mass of strangers who spoke in a language he still didn’t fully master, his first thought had been “What have I done?”.

He’s grown since then. He’s learned to adapt to the unknown. To be more adventurous. Right now, the stress he feels is only good stress, the desire to discover the city he will live in for a year, the thrill of starting a new chapter in his life. He knows the euphoria of novelty won’t last forever and that’s why he intends to enjoy it to the fullest.

On his way to the baggage carousel (thankfully Trading Startup is far behind, lost somewhere in the crowd), his enthusiasm falters a bit when his first reflex reading the signboards is to check the English translation provided. Because this is Barcelona, everything is written in both Catalan and Castilian. While Yuuri doesn’t understand Catalan, he already has a pretty solid knowledge of Spanish thanks to the numerous classes he took, first in the United States, then in Japan through correspondence. In theory.

Now that he’s actually on Spanish soil, it's hard for his brain to adapt to the language. Even for words he’s supposed to know.

It’s fine, he tells himself. None of his luggage got lost during the layover. The weather is good. Everything is starting well. Like in Detroit, he just needs time to adjust, that’s all.

Who doesn’t when travelling to a new country?

Yuuri had read many articles, blogs and forums online about Barcelona before confirming his application. He had found things that would’ve made his eighteen-year-old self panic and backtrack immediately. Like always on the Internet, some opinions were nuanced and useful, some others exaggerated or just plain wrong (Yuuri will never forget the _“They don’t speak Spanish in Barcelona!!!”_ comment).

But somehow his decision was already taken, and nothing he read could have made him change his mind.

Besides, in Barcelona…

“Yuuuuri!”

He’s sure to find at least one person he can rely on. Which is something that greatly influenced his final decision.

His face breaks into a smile. “Minako-sensei!”

“Finally you’re here!!!” Minako joins him in two gracious steps and hugs him tightly, which Yuuri wasn’t prepared for. She’s never been the hugging type as far as he remembers, at least not with him.

But well, they haven’t seen each other face to face in years. Obviously living here will have changed her. Other than that, her face, her clothing style, the way her simplest moves seem to turn into a dance step… everything has remained the same. Her presence is reassuring, a fixed point anchored in the unknown.

She takes a step back and puts her hands on his shoulders. “You look exhausted. How was your flight?”

“I’m glad it’s over.” It’s weird to speak Japanese here of all places. “And I’m glad to see you. Thank you for picking me up.”

“Come on Yuuri, don’t be so formal! We aren’t strangers. It’s the least I could do for my former… well, future-former-favorite student.” She looks Yuuri up and down, taking in the enormous bag on his back, the smaller one over his chest and the rolling suitcase at his feet. Needless to say that this isn’t the most elegant Yuuri has felt in his life.

Minako seems to agree. She shakes her head, like it’s Yuuri’s fault he needed to pack so many things to spend a whole year halfway across the world, then grabs the handle of his suitcase, ignoring his protests. “Give me that. And now, hurry up. How am I supposed to train you if you ruin your back? Thank me for not parking too far.”

“I’m not going to ruin my back. It’s not that heavy.”

“You better not. You agreed to come to my dance classes so you’ll do it seriously. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you. It will be like the good old days.”

Minako guides him through the parking lot until they reach her car, then proceed to put Yuuri’s bags and suitcase in the trunk. Yuuri opens the window as soon as he gets inside because damn, it’s like an oven in there.

Hasetsu is approximately seven hours ahead of Barcelona. Right now, his family must be busy making dinner for the guests of the onsen. He didn’t get any text from them throughout the flight, but surely they must be looking forward to Yuuri giving them news. He sends a brief group text to his parents, Mari and the Nishigoris, telling them that he’s safe and sound in Spain with Minako. That will be enough for now.

His thoughts are vague and unfocused as they drive in silence through the unfamiliar city, the jet lag slowly hitting him. He smiles nonetheless, lulled by the Spanish pop song playing on the radio.

Minako only starts talking again when they stop at a red light. “It’s been a while since we’ve last been in a car together.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s everyone? Your parents? And the Nishigoris, still managing the Ice Castle?”

“Of course. You should know, aren’t you in regular touch with them?”

“I am. I’m just making conversation.” She pauses. “Speaking of, that friend I told you about, the one who manages the local rink? Well, he would be honored to make arrangements with you once you get your class schedule so you can keep practicing. Honored, that’s what he said. Nice, huh? You have at least one fan here,” she chuckles, “I mean apart from me, of course.”

Here it is. The topic Yuuri has been dreading.

Minako misinterprets his silence. “What? Don’t tell me you changed your mind. You won’t make me believe you’re giving up on skating altogether. Why do you think I suggested that you go back to ballet practice with me in the first place? It’s important to keep good habits.”

Yuuri stares resolutely out the open window.

For a long time, he thought that he had disappointed her when he officially announced his break.

She gave him countless private dancing lessons over the years. Everything Yuuri knows about ballet, he owes it to her. She is the one who urged him to get into figure skating when he was a kid. They would spend hours watching figure skating competitions recorded on VHS over and over again until the image became jittery and discolored and unwatchable, analyzing the connections between ballet and skating and the directions they should take so that Minako’s teachings benefit Yuuri as much as possible. To her, the relationship that ties the two sports together was, and still is essential.

Since then, Yuuri did his best to combine both of his trainings and Minako never stopped supporting him. Even after she fell in love with Barcelona while she was in town for an important performance and decided to live there permanently, she never failed to send Yuuri texts of encouragement before a competition – and extensive praise afterwards, no matter the result.

Yuuri will never thank Minako enough for everything she’s done for him. He can easily say she’s been one of the greatest influences in his life. Right now though, skating is the last thing he wants to talk about and he doesn’t know how to tell her without sounding ungrateful.

“Just because you’re taking a break doesn’t mean you will end up retiring,” Minako persists. “Right?”

“No, of course not. I told you.” She won’t leave it alone anyway, so he might as well answer. As briefly as possible. “I just need some time to refocus and... really think about my future. I intend to keep practicing as much as possible once I’m settled.”

“Good. Your career is far from over after all. And you know people will be there for you when you get back.”

The traffic light turns green. Minako takes off again at full speed as Yuuri is abruptly thrown back in his seat.

She clears her throat. “Yuuri, don’t take it the wrong way but I need to ask… did you decide to take a break because of Viktor Nikiforov--”

“No.” He had expected the question so much that his reply came out instantly, albeit more defensively than intended. Like his brain is automatically programmed to overreact at the mere mention of this name. “It has nothing to do with him. I would’ve taken a break anyway even if he hadn’t retired.”

“Sorry, you must be tired of this question. It's just... I know how much you wanted to skate on the same ice as him.”

Yuuri’s heart sinks. Everyone close to him knows about his lifelong dream of facing this man, the other greatest influence in his life, on the same playing field. Equal to equal. Maybe it was meant to remain just that, a dream.

“His retirement was pretty sudden though,” Minako muses. “Don’t you think?”

“He’s twenty-seven. It’s not that uncommon.”

He’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but the association of ‘Viktor Nikiforov’ and ‘retirement’ in the same sentence is still too hard. He didn’t come all the way to Barcelona to think about Viktor. Of course, his mind doesn’t cooperate and the further Yuuri pushes back the memories, the stronger they come back.

After his last competition at the Grand Prix Final, that Yuuri failed entering by a fraction of points (which according to his friends raised the ire of many fans towards the judges), Viktor didn’t say a word about his future projects. Everyone assumed it was because he wanted to keep it a surprise. Surprising people is what he does – and surprising people he did. Not in a good way.

When he officially announced his retirement, Yuuri couldn’t believe it. Viktor had done so well, his phenomenal program adding a fifth gold medal to his list of successes. There had been speculation about him retiring because of his age, which wasn’t unreasonable thinking but… Viktor still had so much to give, so much to achieve. That couldn’t be the end, could it?

Yuuri never told anyone about the tears he shed that night. Not only because his dream had been shattered into pieces but also because he didn’t understand. Did Viktor get secretly injured? Did something happen in his personal life, something really serious? Or… was he just done with skating?

Of all the hypotheses Yuuri’s brain came up with, he couldn't tell which one was worse. He still cannot. Obviously he hopes Viktor retired because he wanted to and not because he was compelled to, yet the idea that Viktor may have grown tired of his biggest passion is just... too sad.

“Oh, not sudden because of his age,” Minako says. “I mean how he did it, and what happened after that. You know, when he deleted his social media? No one saw that coming.”

“Hm.”

How could Yuuri forget? It had been like a thunderclap in the skating community. Viktor didn’t exactly delete his Twitter and Instagram accounts, but since he made them private and unfollowed everyone, he might as well have. The result was the same: he was not coming back anytime soon. For someone with such a strong online presence, that was worrying.

No more tweets to decipher through Google Translate. No more adorable selfies of him with his poodle. Now, even Viktor’s online persona, the only thing Yuuri could still reach to feel closer to Viktor even if it was virtual and one-sided… is gone.

And Yuuri has no way of knowing if Viktor is okay. Which is in the end what he cares about the most both as a fan and a fellow skater, even though Viktor has no idea he exists.

There is no official information, only rumors, but everyone is starting to believe Viktor is no longer in Russia. It could be true. Anything could be true at this point. Yuuri only hopes that wherever he is and whatever he’s doing, Viktor is happy, like he deserves.

With a lump in his throat, Yuuri asks, “What does your apartment look like?” The pathetic subject change can’t possibly fool Minako. Thankfully, she plays along.

“Surprise! You’ll see, it’s not that big but it’s well located. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

At last. Yuuri’s had his fill of uncomfortable trips for today.

***

After a shower, an omelet and a nap to beat the jet lag, Yuuri feels refreshed. Minako’s apartment, located on the fifth floor, is cosy and comfortable, with a subtle decoration that reminds him a bit of home. The guest room is just as pleasant, Minako clearly took her time arranging it.

He appreciates it, even though it’s only a temporary solution. Yuuri doesn’t want to abuse Minako’s hospitality, and Minako understands perfectly that Yuuri would want his own place. He already has several appointments planned with people he contacted through the rental websites Minako gave him before he left Japan. The first one is in two days.

So for now…

It’s only 6 P.M., still early enough to explore the area.

Yuuri puts his phone in his pocket after adding Minako’s address to his GPS app, takes some money just in case and leaves the apartment.

When arriving in a new city, everything is blank, untouched. The streets have no meaning, the buildings no identity. All this novelty at once is frightening. But in a year ahead of now, Yuuri will have crossed these streets dozens, hundreds of times, and stored their names in his memory. Lived adventures with people he hasn’t met yet. He will have anecdotes to tell about the metro, this convenience store on his left, that bar at the corner. In a year ahead of now, he will have lived here. Barcelona will have been _his_.

Detroit got him used to the feeling. Deep down though, Yuuri knows Detroit will never be like Barcelona.

A ‘life-changing experience’, the passenger had said.

Yuuri walks aimlessly for a while, happy to immerse himself in this new environment and pace of life, and reaches an immense square surrounded by arches. The area is decorated with elegant street lamps and palm trees, and a fountain is proudly raised at its centre. He forgot the name of this place, though he’s sure he has seen pictures of it online. It's nowhere near comparable to seeing it in real life.

He sits on the edge of the fountain and watches, like an invisible spectator, people walking past him with shopping bags in their hands, groups of friends calling out to each other, teens drinking sodas and laughing over the phone. These scenes have nothing exceptional, yet Yuuri can’t stop staring and take in every detail. This is his first real visit and everything is worth being remembered, every color, every sound and every scent.

If Yuuri were unreasonable, he’d drop his apartment hunting plans and spend the next days doing nothing else but sightseeing.

Casa Batlló. Park Güell. Plaça Reial (that’s right! that’s the name of this place). Sagrada Familia. The top tourist spots are all saved in his phone, calling for him.

No. It will wait until he’s properly settled.

Sadly, the days are going by, classes are about to start and Yuuri still hasn’t found anywhere to live. It’s not for lack of trying. Everything he likes is already taken, the rest is too expensive for what it is or sometimes frankly gloomy (there was a murder in the last apartment he visited, he’s sure of it).

He’s starting to worry, even though he is in no way at risk of being thrown out.

Minako reminds him that there’s still the possibility of apartment sharing, which Yuuri wanted to keep as a last resort solution. He grew up in an inn, so it’s not like he isn’t used to being surrounded by people – though most of the guests are regulars that are practically part of the family by now.

Living with strangers in a foreign country? That’s another story entirely, his experiences in Detroit taught him as much.

Except that back then he was younger and less willing to step out of his comfort zone. And that as of now, it might be his best chance to not spend the rest of the year in Minako’s guest room.

***

Minako stops the music. “Okay everyone, we’re done for today. See you next week!”

The clapping erupts in the ballet room, as is customary after each class, then every student finishes their stretching session and gathers their stuff before going to shower. Yuuri drinks down his water bottle as the girl next to him wipes her face and neck with a towel, breathing heavily.

“I can’t believe you. She killed us today and you still look fresh as a daisy. What are you really, Yuuri Katsuki?”

Yuuri smiles modestly. They’ve only had three classes so far and Bea has praised him on his stamina every time. While they follow the same _Traducción e Interpretación_ course, they only started talking one week ago in this very room when they found out about their common interest in ballet. Yuuri doesn’t know her very well yet, but it’s nice to have a native speaker to practice his Spanish with.

After a quick shower, they walk along the corridor to the billboard in the faint hope of finding a new roommate ad or a potential answer under the ones Yuuri left. Nothing. No new text on his phone from the people he already met – positive or negative – and no new comments on his Facebook post either. Unsurprising. Still disappointing.

They exit the building and sit on the steps in front of the entrance, Yuuri listening to Bea complain on his behalf. Somehow she sounds even more annoyed than him and Yuuri finds himself touched by her compassion.

“This is getting ridiculous. Dozens of people have seen your post and none of them thought of sharing it? What’s the point of student groups if nobody helps anybody?”

“I thought you didn’t use Facebook?”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m allowed to criticize without sounding hypocritical.”

Yuuri shrugs, resigned. “Most of the time sharing posts doesn’t lead to anything anyway.”

“Are you kidding? Word-of-mouth, that’s what works best nowadays. Oh! Oh! I know!” Bea claps her hands together, suddenly excited. Her train of thought is so quick it’s difficult to catch up sometimes. “Why didn’t I think of it sooner? A friend of mine is supposed to meet me here, he’s also an exchange student but it’s his second year here and he knows like… a million people. I’m certain he can help you find somebody if you ask him. He’s the sweetest.”

“Oh, that… would be great, thank you,” Yuuri says, grateful.

“Don’t thank me yet-- ah, speaking of! Hey, Phichit!”

Yuuri turns his head to see who she’s waving at and- oh. Of course it’s him. At this point, Yuuri would have been surprised if it had _not_ been him.

Yuuri noticed him for the first time at the welcome meeting for exchange students (it was hard not to notice someone wearing such a colorful shirt). He immediately struck him as the kind of person who always looked so open, so radiant that they naturally caught the eyes of everyone around them, like the sun in a field of sunflowers. The kind of person whose natural charm couldn’t leave anyone indifferent. The kind of person Yuuri had no chance of seeing again outside of the meeting room, no matter how much he wanted to.

Yet, since that day, Yuuri has come across him so many times it’s almost comical. The library, the coffee machine, the hallways… and now even miles away from the campus.

Like they’re meant to cross paths, even though they never exchanged a word.

Phichit – finally Yuuri can put a name to this familiar face – is wearing his usual grin as he comes closer. He cheek kisses Bea in greeting, then Yuuri, without reserve, as if they’ve known each other forever. Yuuri still isn’t sure what to think of this ‘cheek kissing’ ritual so common in Spain, or rather this air-kiss-cheek-to-cheek contact.

Phichit hands Bea a red wallet with a cat pattern. “Here you go. It was at Vicente’s. You don't want to know where exactly.”

“You’re a life saver,” Bea says as she checks that nothing is missing inside the wallet. “As a thank you, I’ll never ask you to come with me ever again.”

Phichit puts his hand on his heart with a horrified gasp. “You want to take Vicente’s _borracheras_ away from me? How dare!” He smiles at Yuuri as he explains, “He’s a good guy but his parties… Picture the creepiest party you’ve ever been to. It’s at least twenty times worse.”

“Honestly, if he can find a roommate, anyone can,” Bea says smoothly, putting a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “This is Yuuri, I don’t think the two of you have met…?”

“Not officially!” He sits next to Yuuri. “So you’re both in the same dance class, right? I’m so jealous.”

“You dance too?” Yuuri asks, taking the opportunity to break the ice.

“I used to back in Bangkok, and I took some flamenco classes last year for fun. Now I don't really have time anymore,” he replies, regret lingering in his voice. “I miss it.”

His accent and speech are flawless, miles away from Yuuri’s uncertain syllables and grammar mistakes. Even though it is, according to Bea, his second year in Barcelona, it’s impressive.

The two of them keep talking even after Bea left to grab lunch (not without throwing an encouraging wink Yuuri’s way). Dancing has been the key to unlocking Yuuri’s self-confidence, and now the conversation flows from one topic to another without interruption. They speak in an odd mix of English and Spanish, seamlessly switching between the two whenever it’s convenient. Phichit is not only charming, open and radiant; he’s also brilliant and passionate, with millions of hilarious stories about his first experiences in Barcelona up his sleeve. Yuuri hasn’t laughed like that in ages. It feels amazing.

An unfamiliar text alert interrupts them. “Ah sorry, hold on.” Phichit takes his phone out of his pocket, his eyes scanning the new message for one second before typing a reply. He beats hands down all the fast texters Yuuri has met in his life.

“My friend Leo,” he says, his thumbs still dancing across the screen. “I'm having lunch with him. His guitar lesson finished earlier so now he’s waiting for me. Do you want to tag along?”

Come to think of it, Yuuri is starving. It’s almost 3 P.M., still within the average lunchtime slot but later than what he’s gotten used to.

It’s so tempting. He would never say no to more time with Phichit. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to impose.

“Unless you have plans already?”

“No, it’s just… won’t your friend mind?”

Phichit is beaming. “Leo? Are you kidding? He loves meeting new people as much as I do.”

After they bought sandwiches, Phichit leads him to a park in a neighborhood Yuuri has never been to before. The park is lovely, quiet, completely cut off from the loud noises of the city. A smell of flowers and pine trees floats in the air. Yuuri can easily picture himself studying here, in the shade of a tree, when he can no longer stand being confined within four walls.

“It’s odd that no one else is here,” Yuuri says.

“It’s not very well known unless you live in the area, we found it last year completely by accident,” Phichit replies. “That’s what I love about getting lost, you discover places you would’ve never found otherwise. Have you tried?”

“Tried… to get lost?” When he was nineteen, Yuuri got lost in Detroit on his way to a restaurant. It was cold, late and his phone was dead so he couldn’t even warn his classmates. When he finally made it two hours of panic later, all his classmates raised from their chairs and started clapping and cheering at him while everyone was watching. It was mortifying. “Not on purpose.”

“But that’s the fun part of being in a foreign city! Going wherever you want without thinking, no map, no GPS. That’s how I found most of my favorite places here. It’s so freeing. Tourist attractions, planned tours… they’re great, though most of the time you only enjoy the final goal, and not the path that leads you there even though it can be just as important, if not more.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“I mean it. You should try. You won’t regret it. Leooooooooo!” Phichit yells suddenly, making Yuuri jump.

They walk down a slight slope towards a small pond, near which a young man with medium-length hair is waiting for them. Yuuri has often seen him hanging out with Phichit on the campus.

“About time!” His eyes meets Yuuri’s. “Hey, I remember you! You were at the exchange student meeting too, right?”

There were dozens of people that day, and Yuuri had mostly stayed in his corner. He never imagined someone would actually notice him, let alone remember him. “I was.”

“I’m glad to see you here!” Leo pats the spot next to him, encouraging Yuuri to sit. “So it’s your first time in Spain?”

It makes Yuuri smile, though he lowers his eyes. “Is it really so obvious?”

“Kind of,” Leo replies, then immediately trips over his words. “Oh! That’s okay! I just mean it’s easy to recognise the new students.”

Phichit smirks. “Yeah, they actually listen to what’s being said during the reunion.”

“I didn’t understand everything,” Yuuri admits. “And I felt like everyone was speaking a perfect Spanish except me.”

“Everyone gets that impression at first,” Leo says. “If that helps, I was born in a bilingual family and I still make mistakes. And Phichit and I first bonded over not understanding shit at one of our classes because it was exclusively taught in Catalan.”

Phichit bursts out laughing. “You should’ve seen me last year when I landed here. My first attempt at conversation was… I don’t know, like talking to a villager in Animal Crossing but without translation.”

Leo snorts. “What even is that comparison?”

“Shut up, that’s really how it felt. I was completely lost. I kept telling myself, ‘I made a big mistake’.”

“I know the feeling,” Yuuri says. “When I went to Detroit, I was eighteen and…”

The three of them spend the next hour swapping stories about language problems and misunderstandings in the countries they visited, and the discussion is so animated they almost forget to eat. Yuuri is in his element. He feels at ease and understood, even though his housing problems are still nagging at the back of his mind.

He’ll have to bring it up sooner or later. Just to ask them if they know anybody who might help. He has nothing to lose.

Still, it feels wrong to ask for a favor when they barely know him.

“…so we were at Sor Rita, and…” Leo interrupts himself in the middle of a story. “By the way, have you been there Yuuri? That bar in the gothic quarter…?”

“Uh…” Yuuri swallows the last bite of his sandwich. “Don’t think so.” He knows so. He’s had time for nothing besides studying and apartment hunting. The only reason he’s been able to spare some time in his schedule for Minako’s classes is because when you live with your professor, skipping is out of the question.

“What are the places you’ve seen so far?”

“Well… I didn’t have much time for that.”

“Because of your dance classes?” Phichit says.

“Not exactly.” Yuuri stays silent for a moment, gazing over the shimmering reflections of the sunlight on the water. “I’m trying to find a roommate.”

He explains the problems he faces finding his own place, how his multiple ads have led him nowhere and how he doesn’t know enough people to get a reliable roommate by word-of-mouth; Phichit and Leo keep nodding in sympathy as he rambles.

Yuuri turns to Phichit. “Bea told me you know a lot of people around here, I really don’t want to bother you but if you ever… think of someone who could… who might…” God, he’s so bad at asking for help.

“Hey, you’re not bothering me at all! Exchange students need to stick together, yeah?”

Phichit and Leo look at each other, which is awkward since Yuuri is sat right between the two of them.

“You know… last year, Leo and I were always like ‘oh, it would be so cool to share an apartment together someday’. And this year, we got the perfect opportunity.”

“We got lucky,” Leo says. “The landlady is an old friend of my guitar teacher, it was a great deal. The rent is still expensive, so of course the more we split it, the cheaper it gets. So now we’re sharing it with four other people.”

“Okay…?” Where are they going with this?

“What we’re saying is,” Phichit continues, “we kind of live on top of one another already and it’s a huge mess. If you’re interested though, there’s still room for one person.”

Yuuri stares at them, one after the other.

It can’t be that easy.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course we’re serious! Oh, but I should mention that one of our roommates has a dog. Would that be a problem?”

“But… we only just met.” There is so much new information to process that Yuuri doesn’t react to Phichit’s last comment right away. “You’re allowed pets?!”

“…Let's say it’s an open secret. And we know you better than everyone else we interviewed.”

“Definitely,” Leo agrees. “We’ve seen… six? Seven other people? And we set next Monday as a deadline to make our decision together but…”

If his brief shrug and dull expression are anything to go by, he clearly doesn’t have a favorite candidate.

“You don’t have to give us an answer now,” Phichit tells Yuuri in a reassuring tone. “Just… think it over. We can always arrange a meeting so you can meet the others whenever--”

“Yes.” Yuuri repeats, louder this time, “Yes, of course yes!”

He doesn’t know what to say. Looking for an apartment has been part of his routine since he arrived. Is it really the end? Is he finally going to have his own place? And share it with those two kind, funny, understanding guys he likes already? It seems too good to be true.

Phichit’s dark eyes sparkle as he pulls out his phone. “I’m warning everyone immediately!”

“In general we meet potential roommates on Tuesday or Friday mornings because these are the only moments when everyone is home at the same time,” Leo explains. “Would Friday work for you? Around 11?”

Friday is in two days. An eternity. Yet so soon.

A rush of impatience courses through his veins.

“It’s perfect.”

***

Yuuri gets up at 6 after a sleepless night, spends half an hour fixing his hair – why does it have to be so unruly today of all days? – and changes his outfit three times. He’s embarrassed at how overzealous he’s being, like he’s going to meet with a celebrity. But he really wants this interview to be the last so he better stack all the odds in his favor. And this includes looking clean and well-dressed.

He drinks two black coffees even though he’s already wide awake, watches some TV shopping shows (keeping the volume low so as not to wake Minako) and leafs through two different books before giving up. He’s too excited and nervous to focus on anything. His mind alternates between “I have such a good feeling about this” and “Here are the 5,000 different ways things can go wrong” without striking a balance.

At 10, he can’t take it anymore.

Phichit and Leo’s place is at least four metro stations away. There could be a power cut forcing him to walk all the way down there, or he could get lost trying to find the building. Who knows what could happen. In any case he can’t stay pacing around doing nothing one minute longer, so he puts his jacket on and leaves the apartment.

In the end the metro ride goes off without a hitch and Yuuri finds the right building on his first try – the streets look austere and tortuous, but far from the maze Yuuri imagined on the basis of Phichit’s description.

The problem is that now, he’s too early. Way too early.

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late, but it would be ridiculous, rude even, to show up twenty minutes prior the appointment.

He sits down against a wall near the main door, in the shade, and he starts refreshing his apps to pass the time while his mind fills itself with a thousand and one questions riddled with doubt. The same ones that kept him up all night.

How is he supposed to convince six people that he will be a good roommate? What if he doesn’t get along with them? What if they think he’s too weird or too boring? What if he makes a fool of himself or accidentally offends them?

It’s hardly his first interview, yet in his mind the stakes have never been higher. He doesn’t know how he’s going to handle it if they don’t want him. He needs to prepare for this eventuality but he can’t – it _has_ to work.

He’s finishing his fourteenth Russian exercise in a row on Duolingo when a soft panting noise interrupts him. He looks up and his eyes widens when he finds himself nose to nose with… a poodle.

A big, brown poodle with shiny eyes and fluffy curls.

A poodle that looks just like a bigger version of his Vicchan.

A wave of fondness submerges him.

“Hey. What are you doing here all alone?” Yuuri cooes. A red collar flashes through the thick curls, a clear evidence that it isn’t a stray dog. It doesn’t look lost either. “You live around here? Me too. I mean, maybe. Hopefully. If I don’t fuck it up.”

The dog licks his cheek as if to encourage him and Yuuri giggles, his worries evaporating. The attention of a friendly dog never fails to soothe him. Suddenly, he is seized by a strong sense of _déjà vu_. And not because the dog is a facsimile of his beloved pet.

He’s already seen this poodle before. This very poodle.

It’s logically impossible but he has.

Where?

“Makkachin! Come here!”

The dog perks up and looks away, its tail wagging like a fan. Yuuri follows its gaze.

And freezes.

He’s dreaming. It’s the middle of the night and he is sound asleep in the warm bed in Minako’s guest room and this morning was only a very vivid and realistic dream.

There is no other explanation for what he’s seeing right now.

Even after blinking a dozen of times, Viktor Nikiforov is still here, the dog bouncing and running in circles around his legs.

Viktor Nikiforov. His idol, in the flesh, in some random old street in Barcelona. Holding a grocery bag in his left hand, a leash in his right one.

“When she races me home I can’t catch up with her,” he laughs – oh god. This voice, this accent. So many sleepless nights Yuuri spent just listening to it on Youtube. “I’m sorry about that, she always gets excited when she wants to make a friend…”

Viktor’s lips are moving and Yuuri doesn’t understand a word. He can’t move an inch. He’s frozen against the wall, like he’s pinned to it, unable to speak, unable to react.

Because Viktor is looking right at him with those blue, astonishing eyes Yuuri had stared at so many times on the glossy paper of the posters plastered around his bed.

“You must be here for the flatshare, right? Why didn’t you come in? Is the doorbell broken again?” Viktor presses his finger on one of the buttons and a familiar, very familiar voice resonates in the intercom.

“ _¿Diga?_ ”

“Ah well, it does work!” he announces victoriously. “Yes Phichit, it’s me, I’m with your friend, we’re coming in!”

 _What_.

The words swarm together in Yuuri’s brain in a dense, absurd fog.

 _Phichit_.

 _Flatshare_.

 _One of our roommates has a dog_.

The conclusion is obvious. Yet it makes no sense.

It’s impossible.

Viktor tilts his head with a gentle smile. “Aren’t you going to get up?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think it would take so long to complete this, but when writer's block gets mixed with personal issues... 0/10 would not recommend
> 
> A huge thank you to all the people who supported me through the process, and a special mention goes to [Hevheia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hevheia) because she put up with a lot of my insecurities, you're a gem ❤️
> 
> Don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts, there's nothing more encouraging ❤️

“The bad news,” Phichit says as he opens the door and steps aside to let Yuuri in, “is that the wallpaper is the ugliest thing ever. The good news is that it’s a single room!”

The wallpaper is the only distinctive feature of the room. It’s old and brownish, with such a faded pattern it’s impossible to discern what it represents. For all Yuuri knows, it could be flower bouquets, or dogs chasing each other, or little skaters spinning on the ice. The images keep blurring and merging into one another as Yuuri stares at them, unable to figure them out. If the intention is to make the occupants use their imagination, it’s a success.

Other than that, the room is naked, neutral enough for Yuuri to visualize himself living here. His translation textbooks piled up on the small white desk, his clothes folded inside the one-door closet, photos of home and his family pinned above the bed… A small plant would be nice as well, a relaxing one. He remembers seeing a flower shop on the way.

He sits on the bare mattress as he lets his mind create a detailed picture of his potential-future sanctuary. The more details, the better.

Anything to keep himself distracted from the presence of a certain figure skating legend outside the room.

“Though if you’d rather not be alone, that can be arranged. Mila and Sara won’t want to split up but I can ask Leo if he wants to move to this room instead, or maybe Chris or Viktor won’t mind sharing with you--”

“Oh, no no no!” Yuuri replies frantically. “It’s okay, I don’t mind being alone.”

“As you wish. I don’t like sleeping on my own so I prefer to ask.” Phichit jumps on the mattress right next to Yuuri, the sudden motion slightly making Yuuri bounce up and down.

Throughout the room tour, Phichit has been talking about Yuuri moving in like it’s an established fact, even though Yuuri hasn’t been properly interviewed yet. Using the future tense, giving various details. Maybe it’s something he’s done with every roommate candidate, to put them at ease. Anyhow, Yuuri finds it sweet.

“Anyway, you’ve seen everything now! Ready for the show?” Phichit raises a teasing eyebrow, then laughs. “I’m kidding! This isn’t a trial, just a casual meeting to break the ice. You’ve seen them, they’re all super nice. Sara loves being methodical so expect her to subject you to a list of questions, but no one will ask anything weird or intrusive.”

Phichit is good at making things sound easy. If being questioned in front of six people seemed daunting a couple hours ago, now it’s the least of Yuuri’s worries. He could have done it in front of fifty, a hundred, a thousand people as long as _he_ wasn’t in attendance.

Yuuri came prepared for all kinds of eventualities and what-ifs, but even his fertile imagination couldn't have come up with such a surreal, over-the-top situation.

Viktor Nikiforov. Here. As a potential-future-roommate in this small apartment.

His head is still spinning.

When he was younger, Yuuri had imagined countless of scenarios where he would meet his idol. Most of them were too implausible and embarrassing to be written down even in his most secret diary (a blue notebook filled with drafts of unsent fan letters that he would hide under his mattress, now resting in a cardboard box at the back of his closet. May his family never find it by accident while he’s away). But “the two of us will share an apartment in one of the most romantic cities in Western Europe” was a line he had never crossed.

Yet here he is.

From the way Phichit is looking at him, Yuuri understands he said something that calls for an answer.

“Sorry?”

“Any questions before we join the others?”

“Uh… not really.”

It’s a lie. He has hundreds of them. None of them are related to the apartment.

How did they meet Viktor? Do they know who he is, who he used to be? How did he come to live here and why? What kind of roommate is he? What does he do, what are his habits and daily routine? Is he happy here? The questions race through Yuuri’s head and collide into each other, his initial shock blending into a fierce desire to know more, and he’s no longer sure if his heart is pounding out of fear or excitement. He’s torn between running to Viktor and open his heart to him and running away and never come back.

“Yuuri, are you alright?”

Phichit has moved closer to him, a frown creasing his brow. Yuuri gives the most reassuring smile he can muster. “Of course I am. Thank you for showing me around, I love it here.”

It’s true. Despite the wallpaper of dubious taste and the kitchen appliances “as old as Methuselah” (to quote Phichit), this is the best affordable apartment Yuuri has seen so far. The place is lively, eclectic, the bathroom has a bathtub and there’s a small balcony with a view on a small, cobbled courtyard. How many apartments has he visited where the only view was the trash can area?

Yuuri expects Phichit to light up and say he’s glad to hear that. But scepticism remains on his face.

“You’re worried,” he says matter-of-factly. “I know it’s easy to say, but you shouldn’t be. We’re all coming from different places, we know the feeling of being surrounded by strangers. Leo and I already know you, and everyone will love you, I promise! You have no reason to be intimidated, I mean, we’re just a bunch of ordinary--”

Before Phichit can finish his sentence, the door creaks opens and reveals Makkachin’s snout. She pushes the door further then happily makes a beeline for Yuuri.

“Ohh, someone was getting impatient and is coming to pick you up,” Phichit says in a sing-song voice as Makkachin jumps up on the bed to nuzzle and lick Yuuri’s cheek, making him giggle. “I’m surprised she didn’t follow us during the tour.”

“She really is friendly.”

Phichit shakes his head, wagging his finger to emphasize his disagreement. “No no, Yuuri, there’s being friendly and there’s being head over heels… or over paws. She only acts like this with Viktor and he’s had her for years.”

Yuuri's cheeks and the tip of his ears get warmer, the memories coming back in waves as his fingers run through Makkachin’s soft curls.

The sparkle in Yuuko’s eyes as she held the magazine open in front of him. The exclusive picture of a young, big, adorable poodle hugged tightly by a delighted sixteen-year-old Viktor. The immense fondness that overflowed Yuuri’s heart and the almost immediate wish to follow Viktor’s example and adopt his own poodle… He remembers it all like it was yesterday.

And now Makkachin is no longer a mere picture in a magazine, an Instagram post captioned with a dozen of heart emojis and underlined with thousands of likes. She is real. The first clue to a mechanism that has turned his world upside down in the span of a morning. He met her, and suddenly everything changed.

The muffled voices coming from the kitchen can be heard with more intensity now that the door is wide open, but they’re overlapping in such a way that it’s impossible to make out most of the words. Especially considering the conversation is a messy mixture of English and occasional Spanish sentences thrown in. Just like Yuuri’s conversations with Phichit and Leo have gone so far.

A sudden sense of familiarity hits him, and he ponders on Phichit’s unfinished sentence earlier. _We’re just a bunch of ordinary…_ If Phichit was mistaken about the source of his worries, he unwittingly gave him invaluable advice. It’s all in the adjective.

Here and now, Viktor is not his idol. He is not the former figure skating genius adored by thousands of fans. He is just another ordinary person that Yuuri, an equally ordinary student, has to convince that he will make a good roommate. That’s it. This is his chance, and he won’t let it slip through his fingers.

“I’m ready.”

***

It sure is easy to plan how you’re going to act or what you’re going to say before being immersed in a situation you’re dreading. Following through with it, however, is another kettle of fish.

A cheery and convivial atmosphere reigns in the kitchen. They’re all sitting at the table, drinking coffee and joking around, as exuberant as when Yuuri met them half an hour ago. Only Viktor is quiet, his arms crossed on his chest and his hair falling elegantly over his eyes, half-hiding his absent expression. He seems deep in thought, unaware of the liveliness surrounding him.

He’s only drawn out of his reverie when Makkachin rushes past Yuuri’s legs and towards him, standing up on her hind legs to rest her front paws on his thighs. Viktor’s pensive frown instantly melts into the fondest look Yuuri has ever seen on his face. And he’s seen every publicly available photo and video material of Viktor under the sun.

Like a balloon pricked with a needle, Yuuri’s newfound motto, _Viktor is just an ordinary person_ , shatters into meaningless syllables.

What was he thinking? That just because Viktor is wearing a cuddly grey sweater and lilac slippers instead of a sparkling costume and golden blades, Yuuri would magically stop being affected by him? That ordinary-Viktor couldn’t be as breathtaking as Viktor-the-skater, if not more?

Viktor-the-skater used to be unattainable, ethereal, almost divine.

This Viktor, on the other hand? He is accessible and tangible and warm and… he’s looking right at Yuuri.

Uh oh.

“Yuuri! Come in!” Smiling more widely, his hand beckons Yuuri closer. Confusion blooms on his cheeks when he realizes he’s standing alone, frozen in the doorway. When has Phichit left his side?

“We’re not going to eat you, promise,” Mila teases, her words laced with a Russian accent thicker than Viktor’s. “You can sit here if you want!”

She points her finger at the chair at the end of the table. Of course, it’s the one next to Viktor’s.

Yuuri is really starting to believe he’s being made fun of. Not by anyone in this room, but by some invisible entity operating in the shadows, pulling his strings like a puppeteer to make him act however it wishes and putting him through various plot twists, while having a good laugh in the process. He’s always had a lot of imagination but at this point, even this doesn’t seem so unrealistic.

“Hey, where’s Chris?” Phichit asks as Yuuri sits down.

“He got a call from his supervisor. He said he would keep it short.” Sara turns to Yuuri and nervously tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Do you want coffee? We just made it.”

“Yes, thank you.” He’s already reached his caffeine quota for the day, but he would have said yes to anything she offered.

Sara fetches a clean mug out of a cupboard, pours a generous dose of coffee then proceeds to enumerate all the sweeteners they have: white sugar, brown sugar, milk, cinnamon, vanilla syrup… Yuuri declines out of politeness but as they resume their ongoing conversation while waiting for their missing roommate, he carries the mug to his lips… and represses a grimace of disgust.

He’s never been a big fan of coffee, and generally drinks it for its energizing properties rather than its taste. His opinions on what makes a coffee good or bad are therefore not very objective. Yet even he can tell how horribly bitter this one is.

A hand lands on Yuuri’s forearm, fingers giving a warm pressure through the fabric of his shirt to get his attention.

Viktor is holding out two sugar stick sachets to him.

“It’s not supposed to taste so bitter,” he confirms in a low, secret voice. “Our coffee maker is a bit capricious. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Yuuri can’t tear his eyes away. He should, but he can’t. This is the first time he sees Viktor’s face, his real face, up close. He notices all the small details, the ones that aren’t always apparent on pictures. The dimples at the corner of his smiling mouth, the green hints in his irises, the light freckles sparkling his cheeks… and the tiny scar on his nose, a remnant of a nasty fall when he was twenty. It’s barely visible, but still carefully erased in every photo shoot. This has always annoyed Yuuri.

Fools. Wasting time retouching Viktor’s face like it isn’t perfect as it is.

He takes the sachets with a mumbled “thank you” that sounds like “‘nk you”, careful not to touch Viktor’s hand. He tears one open and stirs the coffee to dissolve the sugar.

“What do you think of the apartment, Yuuri? Do you feel comfortable here?”

Yuuri keeps stirring, the gesture almost automatic. All his senses are heightened, to the point that he gets a bit light-headed. He takes everything in. Viktor’s slight mispronunciation of ‘comfortable’, the way he’s wrapping Yuuri up in his gaze and makes him forget everyone else in the room, his perfume, a faint, very sweet scent reminiscent of flowers…

Viktor Nikiforov smelling like flowers is more, so much more information than Yuuri anticipated.

“It’s…” He swallows, his tongue dry as sandpaper. “It’s. Great. Really great. Exactly what I’m looking for.”

Viktor’s face lights up. “Really? I’m so glad you…”

Without warning, Makkachin leaves Viktor’s lap and throws herself at Yuuri’s feet, or rather on Yuuri’s feet, pinning him to his chair. The dropped spoon plunges to the bottom of the mug in a jingling noise.

“…you are stuck here forever,” Viktor finishes.

Makkachin is not so heavy that Yuuri couldn’t pull his feet away from under her. But a dog choosing your feet, your legs or your chest to lie on is a privilege that must be honored. Doubly so if it’s Viktor’s dog. Viktor who, after a moment of stunned silence, dissolves into loud, high-pitched, unabashed and beautiful giggles.

His sudden hilarity attracts everyone’s attention. Phichit bends to the side to peek under the table, and the sight of Makkachin spread out on Yuuri’s sneakers makes him go ‘awww’ out loud. They all mimic him, one by one. Yuuri ducks his head, his hands clasped between his knees.

“You guys remember last week’s candidate?” Leo says. “The one Makkachin kept walking away from every time he tried to come closer?”

“It was his deodorant,” Phichit says with conviction. “I could still smell it hours after he left.”

“Nah, it’s just that she has good taste,” Mila butts in. “I knew it wasn’t going to work out at the second I saw him. When he was like, ‘oh, girls with an undercut are so rare!’ Seriously? Does he ever go out?”

“Still haven’t gotten over it, have you, _tesoro_.” Sara touches the shaved part at the back of Mila’s head with her fingertips.

“I never forget pick-up lines from straight guys. Keep them all in a notebook. One day I’ll make Chris publish them and sell millions of copies.”

“And for the millionth time Mila, I’ll tell you that I’m not a publisher, only an underpaid intern.”

All heads turn. Chris is leaning against the door frame, his stance languid and a little seductive, as though posing for an invisible photographer. Earlier, he welcomed Yuuri not with two but three kisses on his cheeks, justifying it with “In Switzerland, it’s always three”.

He wiggles his fingers at Yuuri, smirking. “Hello again. Sorry for the wait.” He drops his posture and moves toward the empty chair opposite Viktor, sitting down with a dramatic sigh.

“Do you think one day your boss will remember you don’t work on Fridays?” Leo says.

“My theory is that he pretends to be forgetful just to have an excuse to yell at me.” Chris sighs again, glancing at Viktor. “I guess sometimes people just want to get mad at you, even without any reason.”

“Who knows, maybe if we look hard enough…”

There’s a hint of coldness in Viktor’s airy tone accentuated by his contradictory smile, devoid of the warmth and sweetness he gave Yuuri a minute ago.

The way Chris and Viktor stare at each other disturbingly reminds Yuuri of a game he would play as a kid when he wanted to show Takeshi he wasn’t scared of him – first one to look away loses. And if Yuuko wasn’t there to stop them, it could last a long time. Their record was half an hour.

Thankfully, Phichit puts an end to the contest before they get there. “Uh, okay!” He clasps his hands together, his cheerfulness not fully concealing his confusion. “Everyone’s here so I guess it’s time to begin, yeah?”

The clicking sound of Sara’s retractable pen gives the start signal. Yuuri can easily imagine what’s written on the sheet of paper. What are you studying? What do you do in your free time? Are you a night owl or an early bird? Are you a party person with the potential to trash the place? Do you smoke? Do you have pets? (Or maybe not this one, Yuuri thinks, remembering the poodle napping on his feet.) And so on. Ordinary questions, despite how bizarre the situation is.

He’s faced much bigger challenges before. Why would it go wrong?

“So just out of curiosity Yuuri,” Sara begins, “have you ever lived with other people before?”

“Yes. Well, I shared a dorm room when I studied in the US.”

“You have some experience then, that’s good! Oh, not that we turn down people who’ve never had any roommates before of course,” Sara hastily adds.

“If we did, most of us wouldn’t be around this table,” Mila says light-heartedly. “But it’s definitely a plus if you’re familiar with the dos and don’ts. Since we’ve only been living together for like a month and it’s not very… uh…”

“Organized?” Leo suggests.

“...we’re open to new ideas and suggestions from someone who knows better. We want life together to be cool and fun, so it’s important that everyone get involved, you know?”

Yuuri nods. “Sure, I understand.”

At least they don’t see him as a novice. But he won’t tell them that his previous roommate experiences taught him more about cultivating his independence than building his community spirit. He never formed a strong bond with those he’d shared his room with, and none of them left a significant mark on his mind – apart from Hal maybe, but that’s because his revolting ramen pizza still haunts Yuuri’s dreams to this day.

“Phichit and Leo told us you study foreign languages.” This isn’t a question, yet Sara looks at him in expectation. For details, Yuuri assumes. Foreign languages could mean anything and everything after all.

“Translation and interpretation,” he specifies. “From Spanish to English. And Spanish to Japanese on the side.”

“Wow, that much? So you’re perfectly trilingual?”

“Oh, not at all!” Yuuri panics at the thought that it might have been perceived as boasting. “I only started studying Spanish and English seriously when I was eighteen and--”

“Are you kidding? That’s even more impressive!” There are stars in Sara’s eyes, as though she suddenly sees a genius in Yuuri.

“I have to translate texts from time to time,” Viktor says. Instantly, Yuuri’s heart hammers in his chest. “As part of my course. People seem to think a good translation only takes a good knowledge of the target language. It’s so much more than that. The accuracy of the meaning you convey, the cultural sensitivity… so many things to take into account. I'm sure my translations are nothing compared to what you do, but I understand how much work it is. And it’s definitely impressive.”

By some miracle, Yuuri finds his words again. “You study…?”

“Literature!” Viktor replies cheerfully. “I’m part of a small group affiliated with the university, and leaving aside the assignments it feels more like a book club than a real class. And this is exactly what I love about it. No pressure or competition between people, just books and some far-fetched analyses.”

The corners of Yuuri’s mouth curl upwards almost on their own volition. Literature suits Viktor so well! His love for reading has been common knowledge since he defined it as one of his favorite activities in an issue of Blade three years ago. The journalist, known for her interest in juicy details to the detriment of professionalism, had asked him what his ideal evening would be. Viktor’s reply – “my dog and a good book” – hadn’t met her expectations. However, it had made Yuuri’s heart melt like snow under a beaming sun. No matter how small, ever new information was a gift, a golden key to Viktor’s world that he must cherish and keep close to his heart. As it turns out, it hasn’t changed now that he has met Viktor for real.

A sharp scoff interrupts his train of thought.

“Yes Chris?” Viktor pronounces the name with a deliberate French accent, cutting and sharp like ice cracking. “Have something to say?”

“Sorry. Just thought of something funny.” Chris grabs his mug and brings it to his unsmiling mouth. Phichit gives a quizzical look to Leo, who responds with an equally quizzical shrug.

Chris sips his coffee without hurry, casting furtive glances at Yuuri. “I agree, that’s impressive,” he says after a while. “So is spending most of your college years to the other side of the world, by the way. I would never have been able to do that.”

Yuuri can’t help but be wary of Chris’s compliments. His expressions are so changeable, shifting from teasing to harshness to warmth in the blink of an eye, that it’s hard to tell what he truly thinks.

Chris narrows his eyes. “But what are you doing this for?”

“Sorry?”

“Where do you see yourself in, say, five years?”

Leo lets out a disbelieving laugh. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m just wondering about his goals, his aspirations, all those things. To get to know him better,” Chris explains with a shrug. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”

“Get to know him better as a roommate, yes. Not trick him into bogus job interview questions,” Mila retorts dryly.

“I agree,” Sara says. “It’s a ridiculous question, you can’t ask him that. I don’t know where I’m going to be in five, or just one year from now--”

“Sara, I really like you, but you know I can’t say the same for your list. Why should we follow it to a T without leaving room for spontaneity? I really don’t see the problem in asking this. Of course, if it makes Yuuri uncomfortable for one reason or another--”

“It has nothing to do with the list,” Sara counters.

“So you admit it might make him uncomfortable,” Mila says at the same time. “Then why do you ask?”

“Because it interests me. And I’m certain I’m not the only one. Am I? What do you think Viktor? Go ahead, speak your mind. You’re good at it.”

“All right, everyone,” Phichit intervenes, “please, let’s just… keep good vibes, okay? Maybe we should change topic.” He scratches the back of his head, giving Yuuri an apologetic look. “Sorry, it’s not always like that.”

Yuuri shakes his head, a silent affirmation that everything’s fine.

Yet he doesn’t miss the discreet glare Viktor tosses at Chris, the ghost of his fake smile vanishing from his now pursed lips.

Holding the mug with a nervous hand, Yuuri swallows half the coffee, the bitter-sweet taste lingering on his tongue.

***

The interview goes on for a while in a more or less relaxed atmosphere, without any disruptive event or controversial question. When it’s time to leave, Yuuri has no big difficulty breaking free from Makkachin’s warm, sleepy weight, and is very careful not to wake her up. Not enough though, judging by the tiny, heartbreaking whimpers that follow him to the threshold, clearly meaning ‘where are you going? why aren’t you staying?’.

It reminds him of puppy Vicchan on school mornings. Or the day he left for Detroit, long after Vicchan outgrew the puppy phase. Yuuri had almost missed his plane while trying to comfort him because having to let go of the crying toy poodle nestled in his arms was tearing his heart in two.

“Yeah, I’m gonna miss you too,” Yuuri whispers in Japanese, squatting down to scratch Makkachin’s ear. “Believe me, I would give anything to stay. Maybe we’ll meet again, depending on what they thought of me. Do you think I did well?”

“Told you she wouldn’t let you get away that easily.”

Yuuri blanches at the sight of lilac slippers right behind Makkachin. He jumps straight back up and mumbles “I’m sorry, I’m gone now”, eyes firmly glued to the ground. Did Viktor hear what he said? Does he even understand Japanese? He’s perfectly fluent in Russian and French, his English is almost as good, and it’s safe to assume he has a grasp of Spanish… Yuuri has never read anything about him speaking other languages. But magazines and social media don’t tell everything. 

“Yuuri, wait.” A gentle hand on Yuuri’s back pushes him outside, Makkachin on his heels, and Viktor closes the door behind them. “We’ll walk you out.”

“What? No, you don’t have to--”

“We would love to,” Viktor pouts. Another thing Yuuri never thought he would see. Magnificent Viktor Nikiforov, pouting. “Wouldn’t we, Makka?”

She barks in approval and races toward the stairs, sitting on the first step while waiting for her owner and her new friend to follow her.

Makkachin leading the march, Viktor’s arm brushing against Yuuri’s as they walk down the stairs side by side in silence… It’s like experiencing the scene of his arrival in reverse, which makes the reality of how different everything has become even more striking. Putting such an abstract impression into words is hard but something has shifted within him, has made him a different person from the one who first walked into this building about two hours ago, subtly yet irreversibly.

Viktor hums some unknown tune, fingers drumming against the banister in rhythm, clueless about what’s going through Yuuri’s mind. If he weren’t still so shy around him, Yuuri would ask what song this is.

The humming only lasts for ten seconds.

“Yuuri… you know…” Eloquent Viktor Nikiforov, faltering. “I wanted to tell you about what happened earlier. With Chris,” he clarifies when he catches Yuuri’s confused look. “Tell me honestly, did he make you uncomfortable?”

“Oh, that!” Yuuri laughs (why the hell is he laughing?). “No, not at all. I mean, I didn’t expect that kind of question but…”

Viktor nods. “That’s Chris for you. He thinks every action must have a point, an immediate goal, otherwise it’s a waste of time. Never mind that he lives mostly with struggling students who are uncertain about the future.” His amused smile contrasts with the cutting remark.

Yuuri stays silent for a moment. Sure, the question was kind of irrelevant and the tone kind of rude. Technically though, he could have answered. He does have a goal, and it has nothing to do with finding a job as a translator or an interpret or anything. His goal is to figure himself out as he should have a long time ago. To challenge himself. To reignite the flame of his passion for figure skating in a foreign environment, and to do it despite the loss of what has been driving him all these years, his wish to equal and surpass his idol.

But he would have died before confessing all this in Viktor’s presence.

“We don’t often disagree, Chris and I. He’s a good guy once you get to know him. But when Phichit was showing you around, we argued over… a sensitive topic, and he didn’t like my point of view. That’s why things got a bit tense. I’m sorry.”

Yuuri wants to say he has nothing to apologize for, that it’s none of his business and that he doesn’t have to justify himself. Under Viktor’s gaze, words all die in his throat.

“I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. We want to make a good impression on you too. It goes both ways. Yes?”

To think that there are cynical people online who are adamant that in real life Viktor is a jerk who pulls the wools over poor naive fans’ eyes. Yuuri has never found them more ridiculous than he does at this instant.

“It didn’t bother me, really. There just wasn’t much to tell.”

Viktor nods, pensive. “It’s not easy to figure life out, is it.”

It takes a disappointingly short time to reach the lobby.

They’re standing face to face by the main door while Makkachin busies herself with inspecting the tires of a bicycle set against the mailboxes, and suddenly Yuuri has no idea what to do.

He can’t just say “bye” and run away like a thief, can he? A little voice in his head suggests cheek-kissing and he quickly shuts it up. Coming from Chris or Phichit or anybody else, it’s nothing more than a neutral, friendly gesture. With Viktor though… the brief skin-to-skin contact, the kisses lost in the air would get a whole new meaning he can’t let himself dwell on. And what if Viktor doesn’t like this custom and recoils? Yuuri shivers just thinking about how humiliating that would be.

Everything seems ridiculous and inadequate so he goes for the safest option, a handshake.

“Thank you again for having me,” he says, keeping his head down. “And I’ll… wait to hear back from you.”

Viktor’s laugh sounds like the tinkling of a silver bell. “Isn’t that what you say at the end of job interviews?” he teases with a heart-shaped smile. Then he takes the offered hand, holding it gallantly rather than shaking it, his thumb brushing the knuckles.

“Meeting you,” he begins to jabber in broken, wavering Japanese, pointing alternatively at Yuuri and himself to compensate the lacking vocabulary. “Lovely. Hope… talk more.”

Indeed, and unfortunately for Yuuri’s sensitive heart, magazines and social media do not tell everything.

***

“…and then we found out that the venue we had booked was going to be renovated right before the gala and our costume designer has signed up for another project behind our backs, so now we have to find another place and reschedule everything, which means most of the work we did so far was for nothing.” A sigh, more exhausted than exasperated, is exhaled through the phone. Which is kind of a relief, since Minako has been ranting for a whole minute without catching her breath once. “In short, it’s a huge mess.”

“I’m really sorry,” Yuuri says, sympathetic.

“Tss. I’m the one who should be sorry, I’ve barely been there this weekend. Gone before breakfast, back in the middle of the night… I feel like the worst hostess ever.”

“Don’t worry about me, I know you have a lot to deal with. I can take care of myself. And I’ve had a pretty nice weekend.”

To give weight to his words, Yuuri lists all the tasks and activities he’s accomplished in the last two days: drafting a detailed outline for his thesis research and going far ahead of what his tutor asked him, cluttering his Google Maps app with new red pins for all the shops and places he was recommended so far, visiting an art exhibition and browsing markets to get some good gift ideas for his family…

“Also, I went to the rink but--”

“Really? That’s amazing!!” Minako exclaims. “So you changed your mind about not going back to it until you got your own place?”

“Yeah, but actually--”

“I’m glad you did. I’ll be honest with you, I was getting worried about you. There’s only so much time you can spend without skating…”

“Wait--”

“So did you meet my friend Antón? Or his sister Claudia perhaps, they switch shifts every weekend. I bet they asked for autographs. And selfies. I hope you said yes? And what about your schedule? It better not encroach on my classes…”

“It was closed for maintenance,” Yuuri cuts off. “So I couldn’t get in.”

“Ah.” A pause. “Well, it’s the thought that counts! And, uh, at least now you know where to find the rink…” Minako continues, falsely cheerful. “And what are your plans for tonight?”

“Not much. Have dinner. Maybe do some reading…”

“Me and the team will go to Mariposa once we’re done brainstorming, do you want to come?”

Mariposa is the bar Minako worked in during her first months in Barcelona, and along with the ballet studio, it remains to this day her favorite spot in town. Everyone who knows her finds it a good representation of the most striking contradiction about her: as intransigent as she is regarding good manners, physical discipline and healthy diet, all those things that go hand in hand with her dancing career, she can be extremely free-spirited when it comes to drinking.

For his part, Yuuri drinks much less than she does because he’s inherited his father’s boisterous and tactile tendencies when drunk. But even without a glass in hand, he could do with some company on this lonely Sunday night.

“Sure, why not?”

“In two hours?” Minako suggests. “That’s the best we can do. And then you can finally tell me everything about your interview.”

“But… I already told you.”

“You texted me ‘It went fine’,” she grumbles with her who-are-you-kidding tone. “What I want to know is: what happened?”

“There’s not much to say, really. It was fairly… normal. You know. Ordinary questions with ordinary people.” He rolls his eyes. Is it possible to sound less natural?

“Nice try. You’re just making me more curious. You’re confident it’s gonna work out, I can feel it. Is that why you went to the rink right after--” She interrupts as voices raise in the background. “Break’s over, I have to go. This conversation isn’t finished. Two hours.”

On those ominous words, she hangs up.

Yuuri puts his phone on the plastic chair armrest and stands up, crossing his arms on the balcony railing. The night is still young, the stars timidly piercing through the purple lights of dusk. While it gets a bit quieter on Sundays, nightlife doesn’t start until ten at the earliest. But Barcelona is a city that never sleeps and in the illuminated streets, tables outside are already being set and first drinks already being served.

Maybe he should have declined Minako’s invitation. He’s glad to see her obviously, but he doesn’t look forward to her questions. To having to hide a truth he’s sure is written all over his face. Would she believe it if she learned Yuuri could live only one paper-thin wall away from Viktor Nikiforov? It’s so… huge.

Contrary to what Minako thinks, he didn’t infringe his own rule of only going back to practice once he was properly settled because he felt confident. He did it because after the interview, he needed it. Needed to feel like himself again.

Given the circumstances, he hadn’t seen any solution other than keeping his career, his passion a secret. The thing is, figure skating isn’t a trifling detail like his interest in video games or his favorite meal. It’s something that has shaped his life, his schedule and his habits, his identity and his ambitions, his past and his future so thoroughly that staying quiet about it had not only hurt but had also felt… dishonest.

Juggling all those lies is tiring. And so lonely.

He forces himself to sweep the thoughts aside. There’s a lot of time to kill before meeting with Minako, and he’s not hungry for the leftover pasta salad that awaits him in the fridge. Reading it is then.

It’s flagrant, how unlived-in the guest room looks all of a sudden. No books or homework spread out across the desk. Most of his clothes are kept cleanly folded in the open suitcase. The toiletries are never left lying around in the bathroom despite convenience. It has always been ‘the guest room’ to Yuuri. It’s difficult not to feel like a guest when you know it’s temporary. And even if he were to stay here for the rest of the year, he knows it will never fully be ‘his’ room.

He retrieves the book in his bag and quickly walks back to the balcony, going to the bookmarked page. He chose, a bit at random because the literature section in the campus library is confusingly large, a modern play in Catalan to improve his reading comprehension through a short text. And he got hooked.

It’s a comedy in three acts telling the story of a little traveller staying at a family-run inn who gets caught in a spiral of misunderstandings and absurd situations. The writing is funny, but Yuuri can’t bring himself to laugh at the main character’s misfortune when it’s so easy to relate to him and when his mind keeps creating parallels with his own situation.

Yet it’s comforting. Yuuri wants to know the outcome, to find out how all this mess gets untangled. He’s so absorbed, only breaking off to look up this or that word in the dictionary, that the sound of his phone vibrating makes him jump.

His eyes widen a bit as he reads Phichit’s unexpected name on the screen. He picks up, keeping the book open on his lap. “Hello?”

“Evening Yuuri, hope I’m not bothering you?”

A grin flourishes on Yuuri’s face at the sound of Phichit’s voice. It’s powerful, the effect his aura has on him even through the phone.

“Not at all.”

“I had planned to call you tomorrow, like we said,” Phichit explains, “and then I thought, you know… better sooner than later.”

Something isn’t quite right. Phichit doesn’t sound as jovial as usual.

Yuuri’s smile slowly wilts.

“Look, Yuuri… Remember when we told you we would discuss about all the candidates we met together, and then decide to select the one with the majority of votes?”

His pulse quickens. “Yes…?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this but… you didn’t get the majority.”

“…Oh. Okay.” His reply is not louder than a whisper. He’s gotten used to rejection, but this one hurts hundred times worse. “Well, I understand. And I still appreciate that you gave me a chance and…”

“You didn’t get the majority,” Phichit repeats, “because you got unanimity.”

“You don’t have to explain-- wait. What?”

After a short silence, Phichit’s booming laugh explodes, so sudden and loud that Yuuri has to pull the phone away from his ear. “Gotcha!”

“You…” Relief washes over Yuuri as he buries his face in his free hand, giggling uncontrollably. The book almost slips from his lap. “You’re so-- I can’t believe you did that!”

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t resist! But hey, consider it a final test: your motivation to live with us matches the disappointment you felt when you thought it wasn’t going to happen. And you successfully passed!”

And here he thought Phichit was an angel.

“Anyway, I have the honor to tell you that you are officially our new roommate,” Phichit says with theatrical solemnity. “Well, there’s still the boring paperwork and the lease and everything, but let’s not ruin the moment with technicalities, you can come by anytime for that!”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say. It’s becoming so real.

“Yuuri? You’re still interested, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course I am. Thank you so much. Tell everyone that… um… I’m really grateful they trust me.”

“Sure! I’ll pass on the message. By the way, I’m glad I got you, everyone is so busy and I’m so bored,” Phichit laments. “Leo, Mila and Sara are out, Chris is skyping in his room, Viktor is reading on the balcony… What are you up to?”

“Just reading on the balcony.” It’s only when Phichit bursts out laughing again that Yuuri realizes what he said.

“Wow, that’s what I call osmosis! You and Viktor got along pretty well from what I’ve seen, didn’t you? He walked you out and everything…”

“He… he’s been very kind to me.” Thank God blushing can’t be heard over the phone.

“Viktor is great,” Phichit agrees, serious. “He’s so funny and generous, but he’s a bit distant sometimes. Friday, for example, I could feel he wasn’t quite himself. Neither was Chris… No idea what happened between them. At least they seem to have made up, that’s what matters. And what also matters,” he continues, turning the conversation back to its initial topic, “is that I was right. Everyone loved you. They said you were very interesting, natural, genuine…”

“Genuine,” Yuuri can’t help but repeat. Phichit doesn’t notice.

“See? All you needed was to be yourself!”

Oh, the bitter irony. “I guess so.”

“I can’t wait!” Phichit exults. “It’s gonna be so much fun!”

Yuuri looks up at the gradually darkening sky and the scattered grey clouds forming above the city. With a small lump in his throat, he forces a smile. “I can’t wait either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and say hi on [Tumblr](http://piecesofbrokenrecollections.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it takes time to find the right words.
> 
> As always, a million thanks to my great friend [Hevheia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hevheia) and to all the people who support me through the process, including you who read this ❤️❤️
> 
> Don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts! ❤️

The problem with living time zones away from your loved ones is the organization it takes to schedule video chat sessions. Have everyone awake and available at the same time long enough to make it worthwhile, isolate yourself if you’re on the late-night side of the conversation so as not to bother your roommates… and this is not counting last-minute cancellations or technical issues. Detroit’s massive fourteen-hour difference made Yuuri an expert.

While only seven hours – eight in the winter – separates Barcelona from Hasetsu, Yuuri didn’t naively think it would make it less of a challenge. In fact, the only Facetime session he’s managed to have with his family so far was weeks ago, right before moving out of Minako’s place.

The rarity of these calls makes them all the more precious, so Yuuri has really been looking forward to today’s. When he accepts it at 1 P.M. sharp, he nearly falls off his chair as seven grinning faces appear on his screen, their loud greetings saturating his laptop’s speakers.

“Yuuko? Nishigori? …What are you all doing here?”

“You didn’t expect that!” Yuuko exclaims in delight. “We were in the area, and when your parents said they’d be skyping you tonight, they were kind enough to let us stay for dinner.”

Hiroko nods. “We thought it would be a good idea. Everyone misses you and we know how hard it is for you to find time to talk.”

“Yeah, you didn’t give news in ages!” Takeshi crosses his arms. “What’s about that?”

“What do you mean? Didn’t you get my pictures?”

“We did!” Yuuko says. “The girls particularly loved those of the park… Güell, right? It looked like a fairy tale scenery.”

Sitting in front of their parents, the triplets are peering at Yuuri with identical expressions of wonder. He’s known Axel, Lutz and Loop since they were born, but he left for Detroit too early to see them grow and forge bonds with them. He is as a result totally unable to differentiate them. However, he’s aware they are big figure skating fans as well as active social media users despite their young age, which is a perfect cocktail for potential disasters. He’s always very careful of what he says when they’re around. Who knows what kind of personal information could end up online.

“I meant news about yourself,” Takeshi clarifies. “Not just about the places you visited.”

“Oh.” Yuuri rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Things got a bit intense around here, with the move and everything else…”

“Everything else?” There is suspicion in Takeshi’s gaze. He gets closer, like his face could spring out of the screen at any moment. “Anything you’re not telling us?”

“Yuuri has a secret?” Axel (or Lutz or Loop)’s excitement makes her voice go high-pitched.

“What? No, I don’t have any secrets,” Yuuri replies with a laugh. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

That’s all it takes for the triplets to start chanting in unison, “Yuuri has a secret! Yuuri has a secret!” as Yuuko tries in vain to keep them quiet.

“Hey, by the way… Why isn’t Mari with you?” A weak attempt at dropping the subject.

“Vicchan needed to go out.” Hiroko gives him a reassuring smile. “They’ll be back soon, you’ll get to see them.”

The thought of seeing his dog warms Yuuri’s heart. Last time they said they couldn’t find him, which got Yuuri worried until Mari texted him a couple hours later a picture of Vicchan sound asleep in his closet, on a pile of jumpers.

Toshiya adjusts his glasses on his nose. “So this is your new room? Can we see?”

Yuuri moves over to give them a better view.

Hiroko beams. “It’s charming!”

“Very neat!” Yuuko says.

“Hm… hope they didn’t pawn off the worst room on you just because you were last to come,” Takeshi teases.

Yuuri’s face falls. “Why do you say that?”

“No, no, don’t get me wrong, it looks nice. Maybe a bit… smaller than I imagined. And the wallpaper…” Yuuko elbows him, and the sentence is left unfinished.

Yuuri looks around, more affected than he should be.

Of course it’s smaller than his room in Hasetsu, so what? He doesn’t need more, and having a room of his own is a real chance. As for the wallpaper, he’s grown to appreciate it. It’s relaxing to lie on the bed and let his mind get lost in the abstract shapes. The decoration remains a bit bare, but the small lilac floral composition from the flower shop on his desk and the multicolor fairy lights Bea gave him as a little housewarming present have helped.

His parents enquire about the rent and general costs, reminding him in a roundabout way that if he needs support he shouldn’t hesitate to ask. Yuuri explains that the rent sharing is very advantageous, that his scholarship and allowances cover most of his fees and that he has money in savings, so they shouldn’t worry. “Though I was thinking of getting a job on the side, the modern languages department might need substitute assistants and…”

“What about this arrangement with Minako’s friends?” Takeshi says. “Didn’t you manage to get a discount on ice time?”

“…I did? What does this have to do with…”

“You have so much on your plate already. Skating, ballet… your classes. If you don’t have to worry about money, don’t you think you should focus on these things first?”

“It would be nothing too time-consuming. And it’s not just about the money, it’s about… experience. I want to take all opportunities. Anyway, it’s just an idea.”

“I’m not sure having so many different activities at once is a good idea.”

“No, it’s pretty normal. Most students have a part-time job on top of everything else and they manage.”

“Are these students top athletes?”

“Don’t mind him Yuuri, he’s been a bit grumpy since you left.” Yuuko pats Takeshi’s shoulder with a sorry grin as he looks away, sulky.

Yuuri thought Takeshi would have accepted it by now. He was wrong.

When he announced he was leaving for Barcelona, Takeshi didn’t exactly leap for joy. He couldn’t understand why Yuuri would undertake another period abroad barely several months after returning home when he could have resumed his career in Japan, get into contact with a new coach… As if things were that simple.

Throughout Yuuri’s career, Takeshi had said over and over that he had his unconditional support. And yet… To him, Barcelona has never been more than a whim, an excuse to put everything on standby rather than a necessary break and a genuine desire for introspection.

Suddenly, and not for the first time, Yuuri wonders. His family, his friends… they all claim to be supportive of Yuuri’s choices. But deep down, what do they think? Behind their kind and enthusiastic words, are they hiding a crushing disappointment they would never express out loud so as not to hurt him?

Yuuko suggests Yuuri give them a quick tour of the apartment, stopping the imminent stream of negative thoughts.

“Well…” If he hadn’t been home alone, Yuuri would have made up an excuse. But it’s only him and Makkachin right now. As long as he avoids Chris and Viktor’s room – which he has no intention of showing anyway – and he makes it quick, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He proceeds to carry around the laptop room by room. He wishes he had cleaned up a bit beforehand, if only for the empty beer bottles gathered by the sink or the huge pile of laundry waiting to be ironed. No one mentions it though.

Yuuri has a lot of fun listening to their comments and observations. But he isn’t serene. He didn’t anticipate how exposed this tour would make him feel. It’s like every nook and cranny is crammed with neon signs screaming ‘Viktor Nikiforov was here’. Clues striking to Yuuri yet invisible to everyone else: the purple toothbrush in the bathroom, the dog treat box inside the kitchen cabinet…

He’s walking on eggshells, like one wrong word, one wrong inclination of the laptop might betray his secret.

“And this is the living room, which we also use as dining room. Sometimes we move the table to eat on the balcony, it’s a bit narrow but it’s nicer than staying inside.” He shows them the view through the glass door. “The weather is great at that time of the year, so we often hang around there to talk, study…” And in Chris’s case, do yoga in his underwear for everyone to see, but they don’t need to know that.

“And how is it going with your roommates?” Hiroko asks. “You haven’t said much about them. Do you get along with them?”

Yuuri settles the laptop on the coffee table and sits on the couch, glad to take a break. “They’re very nice. I told you they’d already been living together for some time so I wasn’t sure I would fit in. It’s all going well now though.”

“Do they know?”

“Nishigori…” Yuuri sighs.

“What? I’m curious. You don’t get to live with a top figure skater every day. One of them could have recognized you or something. It’s not the kind of things you can hide easily. Why would you anyway?”

This time, Yuuri doesn’t try to hide his irritation. “Listen, none of them recognized me, and for now I’d like it to remain that way. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about something el--”

Yuuri slams the screen down with a yelp.

Red-faced, messy-haired and short-breathed, Viktor is standing in the living room’s entrance, pressing a hand on his side and bending forward as he does.

How long has he been here? Yuuri didn’t even hear the door open. His heart is racing, even though no one could have seen the slightest glimpse of Viktor since the screen is facing the opposite way.

“Viktor…? Are you okay?” He takes a hesitant step towards Viktor, who’s still trying to appease a clearly painful stitch. “I thought you had class until four.”

“More than four. That’s why I’m here.” Viktor blinks the humidity off his eyes, huffing and puffing. “A cancelled class… pff... was rescheduled today. And I totally forgot. Didn’t have… my book with me. I had to wait for the break to come back…”

“You ran all the way back here… for a book?”

Yuuri is relieved. He expected something much more serious.

“Not all the way back! But the metro broke down midway, so…” A long exhalation. Viktor places his fingers on his neck to check his pulse. “Wow. I’m not used to that anymore.” He sinks into the couch with a content sigh, letting his head fall back against the backrest.

“Where is your book? I’ll get it.”

Viktor looks at Yuuri like he unhooked the moon for him. “My desk. The one with a blue cover. Thank you.”

Yuuri has only been in Viktor’s room once before. It feels like a foreign land. Makkachin is still here as he enters, snoozing on Chris’s bed in a warm pool of sunlight filtered through the window. He’d rather not imagine what would have happened if she hadn’t been asleep and had burst into his room in the middle of the call.

Half the pages of the book are dog-eared, with dozens of color-coded tab markers stuck on the edges. It’s opened face down on a pile of detailed notes in Russian and Spanish Yuuri has to resist the urge to peek at, but that must undoubtedly be brilliant. He grabs the book and runs back to the living room.

“You’re a gem.” Viktor who’s gotten his breath back puts the book in his bag next to his water bottle. “Can I ask you another favor? I’ll be home later than I thought because of that class and I won’t be able to take Makkachin out for her afternoon walk, so if you have time… would you mind replacing me? Just this once? It wouldn’t take very long and--”

“Of course.”

Viktor blinks at the immediate answer. “Wow. You ruined the little speech I prepared to convince you,” he laughs. “I owe you. If there’s anything I can do for you…”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s not a chore, I’m very happy to do it.”

It comes out cheesier than intended but the pleased grin Yuuri gets in return makes up for the embarrassment. “Is that so? Then you’re free to walk her whenever you want. You don’t even have to ask.”

There’s something in Viktor’s words, a sort of buoyancy that makes it hard to understand he is a hundred percent serious.

“No… she’s your dog, I can’t…”

“Why not? She loves you, it would make her so happy. Just keep it in mind, okay?” Viktor reluctantly extracts himself from the comfortable cushions, then arranges his hair with his fingers. “Weren’t you talking to someone when I came in?”

Yuuri looks down at the closed laptop. “My family. And some friends,” he admits, a bit ashamed at the way he hung up earlier.

“Awww, nice! I won’t bother you any longer then!” Viktor glances at his phone and winces comically. “It’s official, I have two minutes to be back on time and I’m not even sure they fixed the metro, it should be fun! See you tonight?”

“Okay.”

Yuuri breathes a sigh of relief when the front door shuts. That was a close one.

Without wasting more time, he retreats to his room with his laptop under his arm. He wakes it from sleep mode and cringes at the number of missed calls. On his phone, an avalanche of _Yuuri? What’s happening? Are you still there?_ text messages.

It doesn’t take long to restore the connection. A new surprise awaits him when he does: in some sort of ironic reversal, Mari is there while everyone else is gone.

“Ah, about time! I can’t believe you all. Not only no one waits for me, but now I’m the one being kept waiting.”

“Mari? Where is everyone?”

“They’ll be back, don’t worry. We had some misunderstanding, I thought we would only call you once I came back and they thought I’d be joining halfway through, anyway… I asked them to let me have a moment with you so I could catch up a bit. I missed a lot apparently. They said you were doing a room tour before Skype crashed?”

“Sorry… We should have waited for you. Want me to do it again?” He doesn’t really feel like doing it twice, especially not after what happened – or rather what almost happened.

Mari waves her hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s okay, we can do it some other time. Or better, I’ll crash at your place someday just to surprise you.”

“It won’t be a surprise if you tell me.”

Mari is distracted by something happening under the table. “Hey, stop chewing on that--” She sits back up, and Yuuri can’t repress a cry of joy at the sight of Vicchan wiggling in her arms and licking her cheek.

When he hears his owner, Vicchan perks up, searching for him. He looks so tiny, though it might just be the effect of seeing Makkachin, who’s enormous in comparison, every day for weeks now.

“How are you doing?” Yuuri asks with the baby voice reserved exclusively for Vicchan. “You got groomed?”

“Yesterday. We’ve had a great beauty day together, haven’t we?” Mari rubs his belly as she cradles him. “We take good care of him, promise. But he misses you.”

“I know,” Yuuri murmurs. It’s a shame dogs can’t perceive images on a screen very well. Yuuri wants him to understand that he’s really there, that he didn’t abandon him, that he thinks of him every day and that he misses their cuddles, their walks, their games. If only he could have brought him here…

“Not saying that to guilt trip you. Quite the opposite. You look much better than last time we talked. Like you found your feet, you know?”

“Do I? …Tell me Mari, when I left… were you disappointed?”

Mari frowns. “Disappointed?”

“Did you think I was wasting my time?”

“What are you talking about? Where’s that coming from? Do you have regrets?”

“No, it’s not that… forget it.”

“You don’t get to say something like that and then backpedal. Come on, spill. Maybe I can share my wisdom.”

In a few words, Yuuri relates Takeshi’s comments and attitude. Somehow it’s easier to talk when it’s just Mari.

“Yeah… I’m not really surprised. You know him, tact isn’t his middle name. He’s not actively trying to upset you. Just remember that even if he’s disappointed or concerned or whatever, it’s your life. What matters is that your choices make you happy. Are you happy now?”

Her pointed look indicates that she doesn’t want some vague, half-hearted ‘yeah I guess so’.

The answer isn’t clear-cut. On the one hand, Yuuri wishes he didn’t get stuck in this absurd mess. He feels ridiculous and guilty every time he hides his skating equipment or lies about his doings when it’s practice time. Every day he tells himself that it’s high time to clear things up with Viktor and the others, and every day he chickens out. And of course, the more time goes by, the harder it is to break the cycle.

On the other hand… he wouldn’t give up this new life for anything in the world. A life where Viktor’s number exists in his phone and where they exchange pictures of cute animals and food through text. Where he bumps into Viktor in the kitchen wearing loose pajamas and yawning as he makes his morning tea. Where he hears Viktor say things like “the bathroom is free” or “has anyone seen the broom?”. Where Viktor trusts him enough to let him take care of his beloved dog.

What’s happening between them… Yuuri is so afraid of ruining it.

He is seized with the sudden impulse to tell Mari everything, let her be the sympathetic ear he needs. She can keep secrets and she’s detached enough from the figure skating world to not freak out like Yuuko or Takeshi or Minako would.

He shakes the thought away with regret, knowing full well there’s not enough time for this, and smiles. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”

***

“…Come again?”

Chris takes the peeled potato off Yuuri’s hands and swiftly cuts it into slices. “ _Auberge espagnole_. If you translate it literally, you’ll get ‘Spanish inn’. A place where you can only find what you brought with you. Those places used to be very common in Spain for travellers and pilgrims in the… eighteenth century I think? They got a bad reputation over the fact that they offered shelter but no food. If you wanted to eat, you had to bring your own meal.”

“Not very convenient. And you said it can mean both ‘shared apartment’ and ‘potluck dinner’?”

“That’s right. And by extension, it can also refer to an idea or a situation vague enough for everyone to interpret it however suits them best, according to their convictions, their culture… basically, they understand what they want to understand.”

“ _Auberge espagnole_ ,” Yuuri repeats, his tongue tripping a bit over the unfamiliar syllables. It is frequently said that speaking Spanish makes it easier to pronounce French even without having learned it, and vice-versa. That’s underestimating the difficulties of both languages. “How come there are so many different meanings?”

“Most of them emerged over time, so we don’t know for certain. Though they’re all related to the idea of meeting people from all over the world, with different cultures, languages… all together in one place.”

“A bit like this place. Hello,” Yuuri greets as Mila, back from her classes, enters the kitchen. She throws an interested glance at the mess of potato peels and broken eggshells covering the table before opening the fridge. “Wait, could you cut them a bit thinner?”

“Yes sir.” Chris chops the slices he’s already cut in slivers thin as chips. “Yeah, I guess we are our own _auberge espagnole_! Without the ‘every man for himself’ mindset. I mean, we shop for ourselves, we each have our own space in the fridge… but that doesn’t mean we can’t share. Otherwise we wouldn’t be sitting here making dinner for everyone.”

“Hey, speaking of…” Without taking anything, Mila slams the fridge door closed. “Does either of you know who took my last bottle of Casera?”

Something in her intonation prevents Yuuri from revealing that Phichit used it earlier in his experimental cocktail of the day, along with grape juice and ginger paste. “No idea.”

“I don't even like it,” Chris says as if Mila personally accused him.

Everyone does their best to keep the fridge a cohesive and practical space, and in theory, their system is functional. Products consumed by everyone such as water bottles or condiments, or fragile ones such as eggs, are to be stored in the door. The main shelves are split into two sides labelled with their names, like frontiers. But little by little, the frontiers loosen, resulting in stuff ending up on the wrong shelf or mysteriously disappearing. 

Mila narrows her eyes suspiciously then huffs. “I thought we agreed on not taking each other’s stuff without asking.”

“Did you put your bottle in the door?” Chris asks.

“Uh... yes.” Mila’s face changes as she realizes her mistake.

“Well, whoever took it must've thought it was for anyone who wanted it. You should've been more careful.”

“But there’s no room left on my side of the shelf.”

"You should've put it on Sara's then. Use your girlfriend privilege.”

“There's no room left either!”

“Then you should’ve stuck a ‘don’t drink’ post-it or something…”

“Stop telling me what to do when it’s too late, it’s annoying.”

Chris chuckles, taking pity. “Viktor went out to get groceries, you could ask him to get some for you.”

Mila points her finger at him as if to say ‘good point’ then pulls out her phone.

“Coming through!” Leo barges in with a parcel in his arms. “I ran into the delivery guy, I took the liberty to sign for this…”

“Oh, how nice.” Chris puts the knife down and reaches for the package, but gets a playful slap on the hand before he can touch it. “Ow!”

“You already get one like once a week, don’t be so grabby. It’s for Yuuri.”

Still texting, Mila snickers in the background.

“For me?” Yuuri’s surprise vanishes as soon as he reads the return address. His parents not-so-subtly implied last week that he should keep an eye on his mailbox in the days to come. He thanks Leo and puts the package on the counter behind him for later, feeling a bit undeserving. He’s the one living abroad, he’s the one who’s supposed to send gifts. And he still hasn’t bought anything.

Leo stretches his arms. “If you’ll excuse me, now that I’ve done my good deed for the day, I have a shitty outline for a shitty essay to work on.”

“On a Friday evening? How serious!” Mila says.

“What do you think? I’m not gonna ruin my weekend on that, I have a thousand much more important things to do.”

“Like your party project?”

“Fundraising party project,” Leo corrects. “And yes, I’m meeting with my friends from the international students’ committee tomorrow. We need to find a club or a bar that will agree to host us, we were thinking of La Torre de Babel or Mariposa…”

“I thought you said it wouldn’t be until several months.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t need to plan ahead. It’s gonna be amazing,” Leo says, disappearing in the hallway, “just you wait!”

Mila’s phone pings. “Ah, too late, Viktor’s already on his way home.” She slips her phone into her jeans’ back pocket. “Oh well. I’ll go later.”

“Mila? You in here?” Sara calls out from the entrance.

“Kitchen!”

Mila jumps on Sara as soon as she steps in, and they wrap each other into a swaying hug like they haven’t seen each other in months.

Sara takes a step away. “You left the bike in the hall again. Someday we’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Note that this time I didn’t forget the lock.” Mila places her hands on each side of Sara’s neck and kisses her, smiling against her lips. “Did you move it?”

“Yes. To the bike rack. You know, where you’re supposed to put it.”

“Aww, sorry, you did that for nothing. I need to ride to the store.”

“Now? Have you seen the sky? They’re forecasting rain tonight, maybe even a thunderstorm.”

“All the more reason to do it before it gets too bad. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.”

“I’m coming. If you’re going to get soaking wet, so will I.” Sara takes her by the hand, oblivious to Yuuri’s gaze on them as they exit.

It’s still hard to believe they’ve known each other for such a short time. From what Sara told him, they met at a summer Castilian class for foreign students. They were always glued together, for lunch, during pair work… Mila even started taking the same bus as Sara just to spend more time with her, even if it meant having to wake up earlier and walk an extra mile. One day, the bus never came because of a strike they hadn’t heard about. After a moment of complaining and shared hesitation, Mila offered to give Sara a bike ride to school. From then on, they never took the bus again.

To meet someone you like and who likes you back so easily, begin a relationship with such solid bases so quickly… It’s both inspirational and unimaginable to Yuuri.

Not that it’s an issue. He didn’t come here to find a boyfriend after all.

He and Chris are once again interrupted five minutes later, this time by Viktor’s arrival. He hums as he puts his grocery bag on the counter, next to Yuuri’s package.

“So, what kind of over-the-top gift did your fiancé get you this time?” Viktor teases, emptying the bag one item at a time. “Hope it’s not a coffee maker, the one I ordered has already been shipped.”

“I think you’re safe.” Chris seems vaguely crossed. Yuuri can’t tell if it’s because the package wasn’t intended for him or because his ego is still bruised from assuming it was.

Yuuri shyly raises his hand. “Actually, it’s mine. From my parents.”

“Oh!” The change is immediate in Viktor’s voice. “That’s so sweet! This reminds me,” he fumbles in the bag, “I got a little something for you, probably nothing in comparison but… ta-da! As a late thank-you for helping me with Makkachin! You said you wanted to try it out.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen as he recognizes the glass bottle Viktor proudly holds. The watermelon juice he saw at the market several days ago and didn’t buy because of the prohibitive price tag. He doesn’t even remember telling Viktor about it.

“It’s so expensive, you shouldn’t have… I’ll give you the money back.”

“What do you think a gift is? Hm… There’s too much stuff on your shelf so I’m putting it on mine, is that okay?” He winks. “I’ll guard it for you.”

Something hits Yuuri as Viktor puts the rest of the groceries away. Everything he bought comes from their usual store except for the watermelon juice, which to Yuuri’s knowledge can only be found at the market. Viktor made a detour just for this. Just to buy him a gift.

Yuuri’s heart sings in his chest, and it gets louder when, on his way out, Viktor innocently tickles the back of his neck. “Hey!” he giggles, twitching under the stealthy touch of fingertips.

He takes a look at the old clock on the wall. With all these coming and goings, they’ve fallen behind schedule. “Chris, can you mince the onions for me? I’m gonna take care of the peppers.”

He stands up, grabbing the colander on the table. Chris doesn’t move an inch. He just stares at Yuuri, his hands folded under his chin.

“What?”

“The two of you are like that.” He crosses his fingers. “I didn’t realize you got so close.”

Yuuri can feel his ears turn as red as the bell peppers in the colander. He turns on the tap and, for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of water flowing.

“It’s much more quiet when no one is around, huh. This place feels like a train station sometimes.” Chris finally starts chopping the onion. “By the way, I’m glad you’re letting me help you with this. It’s rare for us to do things together, I mean just us. I thought maybe you didn’t like me.”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“First impressions matter a lot, and I can’t say I made a good one. I acted like an ass to you when we met, didn’t I?”

The pressing questions about his studies and future come back to Yuuri’s mind. Sure, it wasn’t the most pleasant interaction he’s ever had, but why mention it now? “That was ages ago,” he says, perplexed. “It’s fine.”

“Still. I never got the chance to apologize. And I think it’s important to be honest. We’re gonna live together for a year, it’s in no one’s interest to harbor guilt or secrets, don’t you think? We should get to know each other better. Have a little heart-to-heart.”

Chris sure does have a knack for giving conversations unexpected turns. “Okay… and… about what?”

“Anything. Random facts, anecdotes… I’ll start,” Chris says, already having a story up his sleeve. “In my teens, believe it or not, I was quite shy and insecure. Since I didn’t have many friends to hang out with, I would devote my free time to this website I had created. It still exists by the way, I keep it updated whenever I can.”

Yuuri is more interested than he anticipated. This is not how he would have pictured teenage Chris. Maybe they would have gotten along if they had met at that time.

“It really helped me build self-confidence. Not to brag, but it got pretty popular in Europe and French-speaking areas. To the point of getting someone’s attention. A famous someone, not to say an idol. They contacted me, complimenting and encouraging me. Of course, I immediately thought it was a fake. Who wouldn’t have? It was too good to be true. Yet the email address, the IP, their way of speaking… everything was there to prove that it was real.”

“Wow. It must’ve felt incredible.”

“I was on cloud nine,” Chris confirms. “Eventually we became mutuals on Twitter, direct messaging was much more convenient than the contact page. They were only two years older than me, it was easy for us to chat. We even met up once or twice over the years.”

“Over the years? You managed to keep in touch for so long?”

“Sort of.” Chris’s tone turns sour. “At some point, something shifted between us. We stopped talking and drifted apart, until we found ourselves in the same country. It was pure coincidence, I had no idea what he’d been up to since he kind of disappeared off social media.”

The sudden pronoun change puts a bug in Yuuri’s ear.

“I was a bit in shock. He looked like another person entirely. Lost, lonely. Since he was planning on staying for a while and he couldn’t stand living in a hotel anymore, I offered him to join me in the apartment I was sharing with other roommates. It took some convincing but he said yes.”

The metaphorical bug starts buzzing. Yuuri stares straight at the ceramic tiles on the wall as he slowly puts the pieces together. “And… how did it make you feel?”

“You mean seeing one of my biggest figure skating idols like this or starting living with him?”

Yuuri’s pulse quickens at the ‘F’ word. With shaky hands, he rinses a pepper he’s already washed as Chris keeps going.

“I was ten the first time I came across a competition on TV. The next day, I begged my parents to take me to the local rink. I started taking classes every weekend, my head filled with dreams of quad lutz and world records, no less. Then I realized I liked watching figure skating better than performing it. I was fine with just being ‘the Swiss fan with a website’, it gave me great opportunities. Event tickets, exclusive info… I met fantastic people thanks to it. I befriended Viktor thanks to it.”

His tone is laden with insinuation.

“I discovered so many incredible, promising skaters from all over the world thanks to it.”

Unable to stay still, Yuuri brings the dripping colander to the table, keeping his eyes down. “How do you think I should cut them? In strips or in dice?”

“For what it’s worth Yuuri, I believe you should have been at the GPF. Everyone does. The judging at the NHK Trophy was bullshit. You were robbed, and I bet someday those judges will be kicking themselves.”

“Dice it is. It’ll be easier to mix in…” His impulsive gestures make him cut the pepper too close to the stem, getting seeds everywhere on the chopping board. He pushes them away with the blade and proceeds to cut, cut, cut with fervor.

“Hey, hey, careful, you’ll chop off a finger--”

“I’m good at this,” Yuuri snaps, not slowing down. “My family owns a hot spring resort, I would often help them cook for the guests.”

He even has a fun story about that time when he and Mari had to take care of fifteen guests on their own because their parents’ van broke down on their way back from the market. He will keep it to himself. Chris won’t care. After all, this ‘heart-to-heart’ was just an excuse to confront him, taking advantage of the fact that they’re alone. It’s clear as day.

“I don’t get you. First you apologize, and the next second you…” Yuuri lets out a hollow, disbelieving scoff. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Would it have been better if I had told you from day one? From the moment I recognized you?” Chris crosses his arms. “Then blame Viktor. He’s the one who didn’t let me.”

Yuuri’s fingers freeze on the knife handle.

Chris sighs, resigned. “Yuuri, Viktor perfectly knows who you are. He’s been lying to you.”

His hand covers Yuuri’s wrist, the silver band around his ring finger catching the ceiling light.

“He thought it had to come from you. And how long would it have taken? Weeks? Months? I don’t claim to know better than you. I really don’t. I’m just trying to help here. I’ve been watching you. Shutting yourself away, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not… It brings nothing good in the long run, and Viktor of all people should know that. You better talk to each other before… you…”

Chris’s face falls, his eyes fixed on the spot behind Yuuri’s shoulder. He removes his hand like he got burned.

Yuuri turns around. And all his muscles solidify on the spot.

“Uh… Sorry, I…” Viktor stumbles. “I think I forgot a bottle of dog shampoo on the counter… I’ll come back later.”

The door closes without a noise.

***

Sara’s weather predictions were accurate. The pouring rain along with the sporadic thunderclaps ruined their plans to eat on the balcony, and the clouds are so dark and dense all the lights in the dining room have to be on. As Yuuri brings the meal to the table, he’s welcomed with some whistling and clapping and ‘Why did you have to make such a beautiful plating? We can’t eat it now!’

Yuuri does wonder. It seems so pointless to spend ages on a presentation that isn’t even going to last. And this is coming from someone whose favorite part of cooking is making pretty, elaborate platings.

Instead of making a classic bell pepper and potato tortilla, they cooked it like tamagoyaki, which had been kind of a challenge since the mixture was quite thick and they didn’t have the right kind of pan to roll the eggs cleanly. Then Yuuri cut it into heart-shaped slices and arranged them in circles like petals, cherry tomatoes decorating the center of each flower.

In other circumstances, he would have been proud. Now the compliments wash over him like raindrops. His mind is trapped in a fog, as heavy as the clouds covering the sky.

“Wait, wait, before we destroy it--” Phichit holds his phone above the plate and one second later, the meal is immortalized on Instagram. “Okay!”

“We’re not gonna start without Chris and Viktor anyway,” Sara says. “What are they doing?”

“Dinner’s ready!” Mila yells without moving from her chair. No answer. “Did they hear me?”

“The whole building heard you,” Leo deadpans.

Phichit frowns. “Am I the only one who thinks they’ve been acting weird tonight?”

“Weird? What do you mean?”

“It’s just a feeling. What do you think Yuuri? You’ve spent a lot of time with Chris tonight, did he tell you anything--”

The question fades into silence when the power goes out, plunging the room into darkness.

“Oh no,” Mila groans, “you’ve got to be kidding…”

“Is it just us or the whole street…?” Sara asks.

“Probably just us. Look, the street lamps are still working and there’s light in the building opposite.”

“I thought it would be the storm… stop it, you’re not funny,” Sara says in response to Leo’s creepy, ghost-like hooting.

“Nope, just this shitty building.” Mila turns on her phone’s flashlight, projecting it on the table. “Hm. Not great. What do we do?”

“Let’s wait for a bit,” Phichit says, “maybe the power will turn back on.”

“And what if it doesn’t? Anyone got candles? Because I don’t.”

“We should go check the… uh… What’s it called…” Sara mumbles. “ _Contatore_ …”

“The circuit breaker?”

“Chris? Is that you? Where are you?”

In reply, the white ray of a flashlight coming from the other side of the room is shined in their direction.

“Isn’t Viktor with you?” Phichit says.

“Makkachin is nervous because of the thunder, he’s staying with her to calm her down.”

“But is he alright?” Phichit insists.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t he be? …Hm, anyway, I’ll go downstairs and check the breaker. Who’s coming with me?”

Leo volunteers. Yuuri gets up, informing them that he’s got candles. It feels like an eternity since he last opened his mouth.

He gropes his way to his bedroom, his phone’s five percent battery too weak to make the flashlight work. He rummages through his parents’ parcel with the help of the street lights outside. Among his favorite chocolate candies, his old comfort novels, the figurines sold as souvenir gifts at Yu-topia and other anti-homesickness items, he finds the brand-new box of scented candles.

A rumble of thunder in the distance makes Makkachin whimper audibly through the thin wall. Viktor shushes her, mumbling soothing words.

Yuuri locks the door and sits down on the bed, the candles box on his lap. He takes a deep breath, trying to soak himself calm as he collects his thoughts.

He’s not hiding. Absolutely not. They live together and see each other everyday, it’s not like they can avoid each other forever. And Yuuri doesn’t want to. In fact, the mere thought of ignoring Viktor makes his blood curdle.

On the other hand… the idea of facing Viktor… looking him in the eyes… it makes Yuuri want to bury himself under his cover and never leave.

He’s not sure how he feels. Deceived, coddled maybe. And above all else, naive.

Despite his discretion in the media, and his anxiety trying to persuade him otherwise, Yuuri is aware of his skills. He’s aware he is far from a nobody in the skating world. They call him Japan’s Ace, for God’s sake.

So why did it never even occurred to him that Viktor might know who he is? Because they never competed together? Because they had never met? As if a professional like Viktor wouldn’t keep tabs on his fellow competitors.

Yuuri takes his glasses off and buries his face in his hands. He thought he had succeeded in treating Viktor like an ordinary person. Like his roommate and his friend. Yet this just proves that in the end, Yuuri never really removed him from the pedestal he put him on. That he always considered him superior.

He’s not mad at Viktor, nor Chris. He’s only mad at himself.

Something isn’t right though. When they first met at the building’s door, Viktor didn’t seem shocked at all. No half-second of surprise or recognition. It was like meeting a total stranger, just an anonymous candidate for the apartment. However, he remembers the way Viktor warmed up to him during the interview, so open and caring. He remembers the coldness, the discreet barbs Viktor and Chris flung at each other. He must have been the subject of their quarrel.

Everything becomes muddled in his head. He lies back on the mattress, exhausted, staring at the darkened ceiling. As much as it hurts to admit it, Chris is right: he can’t sort this mess out on his own, and he won’t be at peace until he talks to Viktor.

“Yuuri?” Leo calls out from outside. “Are you okay? Did you find them?”

Yuuri bolts up, the box of candles slipping off his lap. “Yeah! Sorry, I’ll be right back!”

If Leo is here, it means they failed to reset the circuit breaker. It would be selfish to leave them all in the dark any longer. Despite his desire to skip dinner and stay inside his room stewing in his own shame, Yuuri unlocks the door, steps out--

\--and bumps straight into somebody. He hastily apologizes, thinking it’s Leo. Except that Leo is much smaller. And he doesn’t wear fragrance.

The silhouette turns back, and Yuuri swallows as he discerns Viktor cradling Makkachin in the dimness of the hallway.

“Yuuri? …I wanted to see if they needed help.”

“I was getting candles.” For some reason, being in the dark compels them to whisper. “Is Makkachin alright…?”

“Oh, she never liked thunder. She’s been brave though.”

Yuuri nods even though he knows Viktor can’t see his face. Vicchan is the same, nervous during storms. At least, in Viktor’s arms, Makkachin couldn’t be safer.

“Yuuri, look… about earlier…”

“Ah, great! You’re both here!” Phichit shows up out of nowhere to shine a powerful flashlight right in their faces, briefly dazzling them. “Oops, sorry!” He lowers it, just enough to still see their faces. “You okay Viktor? We barely saw you tonight.”

“Everything’s fine.” Viktor adjusts Makkachin’s position in his arms. “Beside the power cut.”

“Tell me about it. And it won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“How do you know?” Yuuri says.

“We met the neighbor who met the concierge. Apparently someone from first-floor blew a fuse, so nothing to do with the storm. Except that it’s more serious than expected and there’s no electrician available.”

“Oh no…”

“Hey, that won’t stop us from having a good evening! And we can eat now that we have candles. You’re eating with us Viktor, right?”

Viktor turns to Yuuri, his look questioning and uncertain, as if Yuuri would mind having dinner in his company.

“It’s a tortilla with red peppers,” Yuuri says, a bit hoarse. “You love them, don’t you?”

Viktor blinks once, twice. “I do.” He sounds as relieved as Yuuri feels.

They will talk tomorrow, Yuuri decides. Not in the middle of a black-out with no privacy and preparation. In daylight, after a good night’s sleep, when it’s just the two of them.

After dinner, Phichit suggests they play Werewolf, arguing that it’s the best blackout game and that they have the perfect atmosphere what with the thunder and the candles. Needless to say Yuuri isn’t in the mood to play a game that involves pretending and revealing hidden identities, but it requires at least seven players and he doesn’t want to be a spoilsport. So he complies, hoping not to get an active role. He’d rather be a villager and spend most of the game with his eyes closed, listening to his friends’ bickerings.

He draws the werewolf card.

A tension that has only partly to do with the distant thunder and Phichit’s grave, exaggerated narration settles in the air. It strengthens when he says ‘Werewolves, open your eyes and pick tonight’s victim’ and Yuuri meets Viktor’s eyes. Viktor glances around then points his finger at Chris, the shadow of a tight smile flickering under the glimmery candlelight as he nods at Yuuri, waiting for his approval.

They stare at each other longer than necessary, until Yuuri nods back and closes his eyes again.

***

“There we are! What do you think?”

Standing on the last step of the rock-carved stairs leading down to the cove, Yuuri takes in the scenery spread out in front of him. The calm waves breaking against the large rocks and submerging the white sand, only leaving a narrow dry space to sit or lie down. The cries of seagulls Makkachin scares off on her path to the water. The salty air so reminiscent of Hasetsu. “It’s beautiful.”

“Right? Makkachin and I found it during a walk a while ago. I fell in love with how sheltered and peaceful it was. There’s no one to bother you.” Viktor puts his backpack down, then spreads a large towel on the sand. “Aren’t you too hot with this jacket? The weather is so good compared to yesterday, we’re lucky!”

He helps Yuuri out of it, folding it neatly and resting it on the towel as he sits down. He takes his shoes and socks off, cheerfully urging Yuuri to do the same.

He’s been like that all morning long. From the moment he said ‘Yuuri! Let’s go to the beach today!’ as Yuuri was making tea to compensate for his three hours of sleep, and during the whole thirty-minute train ride that took them here. Chirpy and chatty about anything and everything that crossed his mind. Yuuri sits next to him, hugging his legs, his attention on Makkachin digging a hole in the wet sand with eagerness.

“She’s always loved the sea,” Viktor says. “Even more than I do. Since we got here, I’ve been taking her to the beach at least twice a week. To make up for all the times I was too busy to take her to Saint Petersburg’s.”

The words knock the cheeriness out of him, confirming it was all just a façade, a way to beat around the bush. He lowers his head.

“I barely slept last night. I was mulling over what I would tell you, where I would start, how I could make it less awkward. And above all, I was scared you were mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Yuuri says, gentle. “I just don’t have the whole picture. I heard Chris’s version, now I need to hear yours.”

“I understand. Ask me anything you want,” Viktor says, giving Yuuri control of the conversation.

Yuuri chooses to start with the one that’s been on his lips since the day before. “At what point did you recognize me?”

“Not immediately,” Viktor admits. “Phichit and Leo hadn’t mentioned your full name, and I’m… very bad with faces. It sounds like a lousy excuse but I really, really am. I only made the connection thanks to Chris, while Phichit was showing you around.”

It makes sense. They had never met face to face and Yuuri looks quite different on ice. No glasses, his hair slicked back… There are so few regular photos of him online that he hardly gets recognized in his everyday life.

“I didn’t know how to react. I had heard that you were on hiatus, and I had no idea if the topic was a taboo or not. So I told Chris not to say a word about it unless you mentioned it first. Chris thought it was absurd to pretend we didn’t know anything, that it was childish and dishonest.” He scoffs. “Because provoking me by trying to make you talk through indirect questions was very mature.”

“I didn’t know how to react either.” Yuuri buries his feet in the sand. “I had admired you from afar for years, and I had made my peace with the fact that our paths would never cross. And suddenly… you were there, in front of me. I was in such shock that I…”

He swallows, not finishing his sentence. How could he have casually mentioned his career, believing that Viktor had no idea who he was? He couldn’t have borne the humiliation. Besides, it was easy to assume the last thing Viktor wanted was to be reminded of his past life, considering the way he cut himself off from the figure skating world.

“I can imagine.” Viktor moves an inch closer. “I never, ever had ill intentions towards you. I was only trying to put myself in your shoes, not to snub you or make fun of you. I didn’t want to take any risks, because if you had felt uncomfortable in any way, you would’ve been perfectly in your right to leave and look for another place. And I didn’t want that to happen.”

A rush of warmth goes through Yuuri. “Oh.”

Viktor grins, his first genuine smile of the day. “What can I say? I liked you immediately. We all did. So I did everything I could to put you at ease. I even tried to talk to you in Japanese…” he groans, burying his face in his hands as Yuuri pats his shoulder, Viktor’s infectious smile slowly growing on his lips.

Yuuri never liked being coddled. Being made to feel weak. Yet this isn’t the impression he’s left with while listening to Viktor. He was just trying to make things right with the information he had. Like Chris did. Like Yuuri did even.

In the end, none of them had been a hundred percent right. They all interpreted the situation according to their own convictions, understood what they wanted to understand.

“An _auberge espagnole_ ,” Yuuri mutters, amused.

Viktor lifts his head back up. “Sorry? I wasn’t listening.”

“Nothing. By the way, when did you start learning Japanese?”

“Learn is a big word. When I was twenty-five, I started an online course out of curiosity. I remember maybe half the hiragana alphabet and enough terms to form some verbless and incoherent sentences. Surely you noticed.”

“I still understood you,” Yuuri says. “I could help if you ever want to go back to it. I mean, if you’re not too busy, or…”

“That’d be so much fun!” Viktor exclaims. “It’s so hard to learn alone. People always say I have a gift for languages because I’m technically a polyglot. Truth is, my mother has French origins and I was subjected to English at a very early age. My Spanish is mediocre in comparison. There’s no gift, I have to work hard every day.”

This is the first time Yuuri has ever heard a mention of Viktor’s family. He would always elude the subject when it was brought up in interviews.

“And it doesn’t help that I get so easily distracted.” He lets out a short laugh. “A kitten’s attention span, a terrible face memory… not very glorious, right?” He shifts his position on the towel so that he faces Yuuri. “I’m nowhere near perfect. I make mistakes, loads of them.”

Yuuri frowns. “No one asks you to be perfect."

“I wish it were true.” Viktor shakes his head. “You know what’s weird? I didn’t mean to stay in Barcelona. It was only supposed to be a getaway. And now I can’t imagine going back to Russia. There’s no one waiting for me there.” He continues, smiling as if he’s telling a fun anecdote, “No one to call on Skype, no one to send postcards or packages to… At some point, I didn’t even bother turning on my phone because there wouldn’t be a single text waiting for me.”

“Viktor…”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs in a falsely detached way. “That’s what happens when you disappoint everyone around you. I brought it on myself.”

Something constricts in Yuuri’s chest, the words hitting close to home. Driven by an impulse and the determination to not let Viktor see the tears that welled up in his eyes, he puts his arms around Viktor’s neck and holds him tight. He immediately regrets his action, all the more so since Viktor doesn’t hug back. He’s about to retract, ready to face his humiliation, when Viktor’s arms close around him in a tight grip, tighter than Yuuri expected, contrasting with the light strokes on his back.

“When I decided to… take a break.” Yuuri breathes out in the hope his voice will stop quavering. “A lot of people around me didn’t understand. My family, my friends… they were always behind me. And I let them down.”

“Is that what they told you?”

“No. They never would have. Well, not all of them. It’s how I felt though. I had worked so hard at entering the Grand Prix Final. I knew I could fail, and I was prepared for it. Or so I thought. When it happened, it’s like something broke inside me. Like my dreams were snatched away from me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“And you needed to be in control again,” Viktor correctly guesses, nestling his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Find another goal and another path.”

A watery smile blooms on Yuuri’s face. His legs are tingling because of his position, but he doesn’t want to let go. As overwhelming as it is, holding Viktor in his arms feels so… right.

“How did you come to choose Barcelona?” Viktor asks. “Rather than Madrid, Sevilla… or another country altogether?”

“Mostly for pragmatic reasons. I had a good grasp of the language, a friend living here to help if needed… and it was far away.”

Viktor’s giggles vibrate against Yuuri’s chest. “These are good reasons.”

“What about you? Did you decide to stay because Chris was there?”

“Well, yes and no. Makkachin loved it here, I was able to enroll in a course I was interested in, so I thought… why not? Though I wasn’t very sold on sharing an apartment. I just…” Viktor loosens his grip to look at Yuuri, without letting go. “I could afford to live on my own, while so many students were struggling to find a place and needed it more than me. It seemed selfish.”

Yuuri can’t believe his ears. Selfish? For trying to interact with others? For putting himself out there and thinking of himself first?

“I don’t regret it though. Everyone is adorable.” He gives Yuuri’s arm a meaningful squeeze. “And I feel like I belong.”

“Do they know?”

“Chris introduced me as figure skating’s living legend before even telling my name, I didn’t really get a say in the matter.” Viktor laughs, rolling his eyes. “Not that it changed anything, none of them were into figure skating. Mila had heard about me, but she never treated me like a celebrity. And I have to admit… it’s refreshing.”

“I’ll tell them,” Yuuri decides. After all, it’s not like he has a reason to hide it any longer.

Viktor nods, pleased with Yuuri’s determination. “If you want.”

Makkachin, as though wanting to join in, leaps on them, her paws smudging their clothes with wet sand. Surprise morphs into hilarity when she shakes water out of her fur, spraying them copiously.

Viktor’s face irradiates with such mirth that Yuuri can’t even blame her for breaking them apart and making such a mess. He removes a seaweed that remained stuck on her fur, knots the two ends together and puts the improvised crown on her head. Viktor’s laughing intensifies.

Once he gets his breath back, Viktor dries his hands on the towel then pulls an insulated bottle bag out of his backpack. “I’m so glad we managed to clear things up a bit.” He pours a pink liquid into two picnic mugs, holding one out for Yuuri. “Thank you for listening to me. And for spending the day with me. It means so much.”

The audible trace of vulnerability makes Yuuri melt. “Anytime.”

They clink mugs, not breaking eye contact as they bring it to their lips. The watermelon juice tastes perfect.

“I brought some sandwiches as well but… maybe you’d rather eat somewhere else? There are plenty of restaurants in the area.”

As if Yuuri would favor a restaurant over Viktor’s sandwiches.

There are so many things left to say, so many questions that remain unanswered.. Right now though, Yuuri doesn’t want to give more attention to painful things. He wants them to enjoy this day at the beach. To have lunch without caring about what time it is. To walk in the water and splash each other when they least expect it. To play with Makkachin, take a quick nap in the shade of the cliff when last night’s lack of sleep takes its toll and wipe sunscreen remnants off each other’s faces.

And, until the sky turns orange, this is precisely what they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and say hi on [Tumblr](http://piecesofbrokenrecollections.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update as soon as possible. Please let me know if you enjoyed it ❤


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